The End of Innocence
by holding-out
Summary: remember that one time when zechs got in charge of the white fang and tried blowing up the world? what if it happened a little differently? perspectives change, illusions die, and people learn. r/r if you dare. (please dare! PLEASE DARE!!!)
1. the princess' request

The End of a Mystery (GW)  
  
By StarChild  
  
My E-mail address is BobbyJo7@msn.com.  
  
I don't own Gundam Wing. I don't own any of the characters nor do I own any rights concerning them, but I love the way they were created just enough to want to be able to do that, to make my words come alive in that way. I don't know who owns them but would like to make it clear that I'm not trying to take anything away from them but am simply trying to satisfy my own curiosity and fascination.  
  
Before I begin, I would like to let you know that in this piece, Relena is not going to be the evil, stupid, ignorant, naïve, screechy person that she is in many fanfics I have read. And the reason is that I simply don't see her that way. I am sincerely sorry if this bothers you. She will not be the heroine in all of my fanfics; probably very few actually. Please don't send me any ugly E-mails concerning her. I get enough junk mail already. Also, if you do, I may respond and not kindly. Oh yes, and one other thing. This fanfic may have an inspiring or even somewhat sappy ending although not necessarily a happy one. I'm sorry about that too but as I say now and may again in the future, this is not real. And without any further ado, may I present, my second, and hopefully not last, fanfic.  
  
Chapter One  
  
"All Evil comes from the Earth. It is time that someone destroyed it." The raspy voice of Milliardo PeaceCraft, a.k.a. Zechs Marquise a.k.a. the Lightning Count sent a cold chill down the spines of all who heard him, a chill of both excitement and horror.  
  
"You're right, Malliardo." Came the deceptively smooth and soothing voice of Dorothy. Her eyes were filled with an inexpressible joy and mischief but her smile was small and mysterious. The energy that filled her body from the tips of her white-blond hair to the soles of her feet was struggling to break free but she held it in check easily as she always did when she knew that war was about to break. She allowed her closed-mouth smile to spread just a little and then returned it to its mystery.  
  
"Oh, but Milliardo, do you think we can? I mean, it would be such justice, to return to them what they've been giving us, the colonies, everyone. How?"  
  
"The cannons on this ship. They should be enough. They can destroy Gundams and asteroids and colonies and with them we will destroy the earth."  
  
"But Milliardo. They aren't big enough to blow up the earth." Her disappointment was barely evident in her voice. She had faith in Milliardo, just as she had faith in his sister, although she hadn't believed in Miss Relena's policy on pacifism. Yet, for all her faith in his abilities, it was apparent that he didn't quite know this ships limits yet.  
  
"No. That's not what I mean." His voice was not impatient with her or demeaning, but reasoning. "We wont shoot the earth. The cannons aren't powerful enough for that. But if a colony hit it at the right speed." Here he trailed off, motioning with delicate movements of his hands what he meant. The light dawned and her joy was complete. It would work. He really was brilliant, not nearly so lost as she had thought he might be. And then she remembered something. Her joy dulled for a minute as she considered.  
  
"Milliardo, what about the Gundam pilots and Treize? And what about Miss Relena?"  
  
Milliardo's blue eyes met her own gray and he answered, showing his confidence in her.  
  
"I'm not worried about them Dorothy. They are fighting for the colonies; the earth is not their concern and has certainly never done them any favors. However, if you feel different, I will certainly not stand in your way if you choose to take precautions." She shivered with excitement as she began making her way out of the room. Oh yes. I will certainly take precautions. It would be my pleasure. Her pupilless eyes flickered and then she was gone.  
  
(Later that day.) Relena is in her ship out in space. She is searching for her brother, hoping only to see him again.  
  
It had been a long time since they last met and much had happened since then and. There was also Heero. It was silly to hope for; to put any confidence in the thought would be to set oneself up for heartbreak. She had heard that he and the other Gundam pilots were out here, somewhere. She didn't know where and space was such a big place. She would satisfy herself with seeing her brother again and every night she would dream of her soldier.  
  
She sighed and a passing crewmember looked at her with curiosity before continuing down the hall. Relena stood, gazing out of one of the many windows that circled the ship, watching the stars. He was a riddle. He was threatening and fighting and killing; everything she wasn't; everything that she fought against. And then he was also there to wipe away her tears, shielding her from pain and death, giving her strength to face the whole world, the whole universe. And she didn't know where he was, and she was just so tired of fighting without him. She sighed again and leaned against the window, drowning in memories. A dead father.  
  
An annihilated plane.  
  
A torn invitation...  
  
A single dance...  
  
The barrel of a gun...  
  
One liquid blue eye.  
  
"Miss Relena, please, we've just received a message from the White Fang, your brother's ship. Miss Relena!"  
  
Relena opened her eyes to see the anxious figure of the former Lieutenant Noin. Immediately she knew something was wrong and it was her brother. What had happened?  
  
"Noin. What's wrong? Is Milliardo okay?" Noin loved her brother. She knew that. She had heard a rumor once that they had eloped, in secret. Noin had neither confirmed nor denied this, but then, Relena was too discreet to ask.  
  
"I'm not sure. He-" For a moment she seemed almost unable to speak and then, "He spoke, by satellite. He said he was going to-to destroy the earth and-Oh, Miss Relena, if his coordinates are correct, then we're directly in the way!"  
  
Relena stared wide-eyed at the normally calm lieutenant, speechless. Destroy the earth? Milliardo must be out of his mind. How could he ever want to do that? There were innocents-billions of people would die! But they were in the way. Would he kill his sister? -His love? He must be out of his mind.  
  
Then her mind began to work again, panicked like a small bird. She couldn't contain her thoughts; they struggled from one ridiculous plan to the next, and then it occurred to her. There was nothing she could do- except. "Heero!"  
  
Noin stared at her, uncomprehending. What a perfect time for her leader to lose her senses. Heero? "Oh! Heero! The Gundam Pilots!" They weren't doomed. They could contact them-somehow-and then they could stop Milliardo. But then-"Miss Relena, if we were to contact the Gundam pilots, do you think we could persuade them to not kill Milliardo? I know it sounds selfish but I just." Her voice trailed off, she watched the young princess anxiously. Enough of this. She had no right to act this way. Relena needed help.  
  
"Noin. I've decided. We'll contact Heero to tell them the situation but only after I've made some attempt to dissuade him of this. He is my brother and I have faith in him. I'm sure he'll listen to reason. He needs to understand that you can't kill innocents because of the actions of a few people. Somehow I'll get to the White Fang and I'll gain entrance."  
  
"But, Miss Relena, what if he doesn't listen? What if they decide to attack anyway? Or hold you captive?"  
  
"Oh, Noin. I'm sure they wouldn't do that, but then, I don't know my brother as well as I should. If they keep me." Here she became silent, thinking. "I'll leave. Now. If I don't return in twelve hours, then contact Heero. I'll give you a message. I know Treize is in the area and I don't want him reading private mail. I'll put a password on it."  
  
With that she turned and began striding quickly and purposefully down the hall, towards the information room (I don't know what to call it. You know that room that they always have that has RADAR, computers, a communication system so that they always know who's attacking when, where, how, how many.)  
  
(On the ship where the Gundam pilots, Sally Po, that one guy that does repairs, and a few anxious-from-being-around-death-glare-king-Heero-Yuy soldiers are staying. It is out in space, not a totally unreasonable distance away from the White Fang and Relena's ship. They are keeping an eye on Treize who's own ship is also not far from theirs.)  
  
Heero gazed out the large window in his room quietly, glad to be away from Duo and Wufei. He and Trowa got along pretty well; both were silent, questioning without the use of words. And no one Heero had yet met could get angry at Quatre. Out of them all, Quatre was the warmest and kindest and also-he paused-also the most honest. He never said an unkind word and the only time Heero had ever seen him violent, was when he had been distraught, using the zero system in Heero's Gundam to attempt blowing up a colony. But then, the zero system had that effect on people when they were not in control, when they weren't careful, or too emotional to be rational.  
  
It was so strange, this silence. It ebbed around him, had a pulse. He could feel it squeezing in on him from all sides. It had been so long since he had felt this stillness, the stillness of space. There was no sound anywhere and he could feel his ears just straining for something, anything. It had been a long time since he had come here, since he moved. He was beginning to hear a faint buzzing in his own head as his ears made up for what they could not find. But the stillness-was it really stillness? How could he feel such energy coming from everywhere when nothing moved or changed? If reality had stopped, how could he tell? Was all movement in his own brain? Was the only consciousness in the universe here? Or was he living in one thought? No. That wasn't right. He had thought of many things; of his time in training with Dr. J, of his meetings with all the pilots, how they'd started off so distrustful, and of a princess.  
  
Ah, the princess. He couldn't understand it and almost-almost feared it, as he feared nothing in the universe. Mobile dolls he could handle, understand. Mobile suits he could shred. But her. he had given up long ago trying to figure out why he acted like such a fool around her, why he had saved her, why he had regretted hurting her so many times. He could never keep her, would never let her control his actions as he knew would happen if he allowed himself to care.  
  
The stars were perfectly defined in the land of eternal night, their white-red-yellow-blue light made him think just as clearly as they. Perhaps when the war was over, if he wasn't dead or insane, he would watch her; keep track of her. It wasn't a big deal. She was a very substantial political figurehead and surely no peace could last long. He could be needed again and when that happened he would need to know what was going on in the universe. No-he was the Perfect Soldier. It was to be expected.  
  
The door burst open as a braided boy rushed in. He didn't see Heero at first and after a quick and unthorough glance around the room, began shouting, "Heeeeeeeeerooooooooo! Dude! Where are you, man?! HEEEERRRRRROOOOOOOOOO! We have an important message from Rreeeeelllleeeeeeeeeeeennnaaaaaaaaaaaa!!"  
  
Heero slowly raised his head up to look at Duo. From his position beside the bed, on the floor, it didn't surprise him that the insane boy before him didn't see him. Wufei would have and Trowa would probably have known he was there before he opened the door.  
  
At the moment when Duo opened his mouth to take a breath, Heero finally spoke, making Duo choke with his surprise.  
  
"Stop shouting. I hear you."  
  
"Oh my God. Heero. Don't do that to me ever again. I just don't know if I could handle it." Duo was gasping for air and as amusing as he almost thought it was, Heero decided to give him a cold stare instead of an apology.  
  
"You shouldn't shout so much. You give me a headache. Now, what were you saying about a message?" His monotone was almost sleepy calm and his eyes were hooded. Duo sweatdropped.  
  
He didn't add "from Relena." It went against his pride and instincts to admit even the slightest curiosity. Messages were important in his line of work; girls weren't, no matter how hard he tried to deceive himself of that fact.  
  
"Oh. Yeah. The message." Duo rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. He'd forgotten all about the message, being far more concerned with how Heero had managed to scare the shit out of him again, just when he was beginning to think he'd gotten used to him.  
  
"Relena sent a message-to you. She said it was urgent but that she wanted only you to answer it. So, we're all waiting for you to get to the message room to take it, and open it."  
  
"Who cares what she wants? If it's so urgent, why didn't you just open it and wait for me?"  
  
Duo sweatdropped again, looking sheepish and a little bit caught out.  
  
"Well, uh. you see buddy. she locked it with a uhh.a password. None of us know what it is. She said you'd know." Duo's eyes were shut and his grin was pasted. Would Heero ask why they had tried to open a private message? He waited for the question, for any move on the part of the Perfect Soldier. And he waited. After about five minutes, he opened one eye. The room was empty. Heero had left without him. Turning, he ran out into the hall, seeing no one. He sighed. Why did he get stuck with all of the weird, mean, unsocial, unreasonable, psychotic, rude, paranoid, morose, bizarre. etc.  
  
"Why didn't you call me immediately?" asked Heero as his fingers blurred on the keyboard.  
  
"We did." Answered that one dude who fixes things (if any of you know his name, will you please tell me?) "Immediately after we realized we weren't going to figure out the password in this lifetime."  
  
"Hnn" Heero wasn't even listening. He was eliminating possibility after possibility. He didn't know what the password was. With most problems, if he got fed up with it, he could always just take out his gun and BANG! It was gone. Computers however were another matter.  
  
Gun.  
  
And then it hit him. (Bang)  
  
His fingers flew to the keys, spelling what he knew it would be.  
  
O. M. A. E. (space) O. (space) K. O. R. U. S. O.  
  
The screen paused, adjusting to this and then the message opened. The people who now crowded behind him cheered. They were curious to know what the message from the pacifist queen of the Sanq Kingdom said (and probably also wondering about her connection to Heero Yuy, Gundam pilot and killer extraordinaire)  
  
The cheering died down. All watched the young pilot as he read the message. The other four pushed up behind him, nearly alarmed at the sudden silence.  
  
He sat perfectly still, having already read the message. He read it again, just to make sure, just to be sure he'd read correctly. No. It was the same.  
  
He stood, silently, staring still at the emotionless screen. Computers didn't lie. He turned, elbowing his way between Duo and Wufei and left, leaving them to read the message for themselves.  
  
To Heero,  
  
and whomever else it concerns  
  
This morning I received a message from my brother, Milliardo, from his place on the ship, White Fang. He has threatened to blow up the Earth and destroy all that live on it. I have gone to stop him. If you are receiving this message, it means that I have been gone for twelve hours and my friends and allies have been unable to contact me. Heero-Gundam pilots-I want you to stop him, to help me. I know that you are the protectors of the colonies, but the people of both the colonies and the earth are the same and no innocents deserve to die.  
  
Trustingly,  
  
Queen Relena of the Sanq Kingdom  
  
  
  
That is the end of my first chapter. I hope you like it and I sincerely hope you'll send me suggestions. That one dude, I don't know his name. Carl? I don't know. Forget it. If you know, please tell me. I hate referring to anyone on Gundam Wing as "that one dude who fixes things". I'm not sure if this is long or short, probably average. I hope you like it. It would be an absolute joy if you did. If you hate Relena, don't tell me about it. I don't care. Continue reading please, just as soon as I write the next chapter. Thanks a bunch.  
  
Yours forever,  
  
StarChild. 


	2. different people, different paths

The End of a Mystery  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Once again, I do not own Gundam Wing. I don't own any of the characters or the giant robots (I know, I know. Gundams) that they fly around in. If you think that I'm trying to take anything, please realize that I'm just writing this for the fun of it. It's not copyrighted. I'm not getting paid for it. I'm just bored.  
  
Anyway, about that one dude who fixes things. Since I didn't get any e- mails concerning his name, (growls) he is going to remain "that one dude who fixes things". I'm sorry about that but I don't know everything. I'm only genius, not omnipotent. (smiles mysteriously) Well, I'm sure you haven't come here (and if you have I'd like to give you a kiss, but I wont because a) I don't usually kiss strangers b)I don't usually kiss anyone period and c)you're on the other side of the computer from me.) to listen to me, so, on to the second chapter.  
  
Relena stood before her brother. Her eyes were concerned and her mouth was set in a small frown. Dorothy stood beside her and Relena was almost glad to have her there. Although her ideals about war and pain were totally backward, she had always treated Relena with respect and a certain amount of kindness.  
  
"Milliardo, please be reasonable. Billions of people will die. Have a little compassion. They don't deserve to die for crimes they haven't committed."  
  
Her voice was devoid of any fear that many people would have in the presence of the lightning count. "I can't let you do this."  
  
"This has nothing to do with you Relena. I will not change my mind. Dorothy, will you take her somewhere please? But don't mistreat her; she is still my sister."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Milliardo." With a small, mysterious smile, she dragged the protesting Relena out of the room.  
  
"Dorothy! What are you doing? You can't be serious. Billions will die!"  
  
"Oh Miss Relena. You know how I feel about war. To suppress our rage and pain and destructive tendencies would be to suppress our humanity, that very humanity which you ask us to have when it comes to taking lives. Here we are." They had stopped in a cellblock of the ship. Opening a door by pressing various unmarked buttons on a keyboard in the wall, Dorothy shoved Relena into the small compartment.  
  
"Dorothy-"  
  
"Goodbye Miss Relena."  
  
"The Gundams will come if I'm not back in an hour. They'll destroy you, Dorothy!"  
  
Dorothy listened, a slightly amused smile playing in her eyes and her mouth.  
  
"Goodbye Miss Relena"  
  
"Billions-"  
  
The door shut on her argument. "No." Relena allowed herself to collapse to the floor. Her brother was insane, she couldn't persuade him or even relate to him. She didn't even know him. "No." It was all up to the Gundams now. She only hoped they could fight for her. She dragged herself over to the window, prepared to spend the next few hours waiting for a sign and trying to find some way out of this.  
  
Dorothy strode down the hall confidently. She had only just come up with a brilliant plan, one that would perhaps both get rid of Treize and maybe-Her smile was joyful and malicious. If her suspicions were correct, it might also put the Gundam pilots themselves at her disposal. Before putting her plan into action, she would need to think about it. There were bound to be a few problems but those she would iron out presently. One must always be careful when concerning the Gundam pilots.  
  
  
  
They were in a conference room. A long white table stretched for most of the length of it, chairs that could seat perhaps thirty people or more. There were glasses and pitchers of water all along it, and sandwich wrappers rested here and there. They'd been discussing what to do for a long time and nothing had been decided.  
  
Only the important people actually spoke; Sally Po, that one dude who fixes things, and the Gundam Pilots. The crewmen had mostly been too timid to speak openly in front of five well-known killers, despite the fact that none of them had, as of yet, tried to kill anyone on board. Wufei had argued very well for simply blowing up the White Fang but Quatre had reminded him of the pacifist queen. Sally Po reasoned that they should rescue Relena and deactivate the cannons on the ship. Duo had slept through most of the conference.  
  
Heero hadn't said a word. He sat next to the sleeping Duo, ignoring the soft snores that came frequently from his partner. He looked bored.  
  
"If we attack the White Fang, all we will do is get ourselves killed. If we are going to do this, we need to plan. We need to be ready for everything. Otherwise we will die. We will not be of any use to anyone when we are dead." Spoke Quatre (not militaristically. He is speaking very reasonably and perhaps just a little over sensitively)  
  
"But if we don't attack, then we cannot do anything at all. At least this way we have a chance. We can't just leave them to die." Replied Wufei.  
  
"I don't see why we don't just blow her up with the damned ship! She hasn't been of any use to anyone, especially not ourselves. I know she's trying to save the world, but she should have left it to those who know how to fight. She was a weak fool to get involved."  
  
"It was a noble act on her part, to confront her brother. And he is her brother. It is her right to try to dissuade him of this course and not only her right but also her duty. She could have left it to us, to leave the earth to live or die as fate decides, but she didn't. I don't know how you, Wufei, of all people, can argue against her when honor and duty are the things you value most!" There was silence all around at this impassioned speech from Quatre. Heero was watching this discussion with something almost like interest in his normally flat, dead eyes. He and Trowa alone had kept their faces devoid of surprise. Duo was still sleeping.  
  
Wufei stood and, placing his hands on the table, leaned threateningly over to Quatre who was sitting across from him. His voice was soft and intense. "It was noble of her. I admit that. But you cannot sacrifice billions of lives for one. With one selfless, stupid act, she has compromised every single one of those lives that she was trying to save. If we don't attack, then we are as good as saying that we don't care for what happens to those innocents that you act so fond of. If we don't act immediately, then we are leaving them to a death that they may or may not deserve. If the earth is destroyed, what good will our struggles be? What good will our lives be when we can only fight and have failed to do even that for those who need protection most? I refuse to sit by and allow myself to become obsolete. I will be getting Nataku ready. If you ever come to a decision, let me know."  
  
All watched as the Chinese boy left the room, with as much strength and grace as one can imagine from any legendary fighter.  
  
"Oh." Quatre looked sorry and disappointed. He hadn't meant to make Wufei angry.  
  
The room was silent.  
  
"Now what?" asked that one dude who fixes things.  
  
"Well-"  
  
The blue screen on the wall suddenly lit up, drawing the attention of all. A face that they all knew, if only minutely filled the screen.  
  
Quatre's eyes became wide with shock.  
  
"Dorothy?!"  
  
"Oh, hello Quatre. I've decided to send you guys a little message, concerning a certain pacifist princess."  
  
Duo was awake with the sudden light of the screen. Squinting, he looked up at the huge image of Dorothy. "Dude, you have bizarre eyebrows."  
  
Her strange, chilling laughter filled the conference room. Heero's eyes became focused chips of stone. His knuckles, unnoticed by any in the room, clutched whitely to the glass of water he'd been holding.  
  
"Funny, Duo. My message is this. You, Heero" Heero eyes were colder than December as he glared at her. "will attack Treize Kushrenada's ship and challenge within the hour to a battle of mobile suits. A fight to the death. If you refuse, I will send you Miss Relena's bleeding heart and if you lose, I will send her to join you out in open space. This is not negotiable. If you win and do as I ask, I will have her escorted to your ship. From there it's up to you. Again, this is not negotiable. Have a nice day."  
  
With a last sweet smile, her image vanished.  
  
Every one in the conference room stared at Heero. He was sitting as before, slouched in his chair. The muscles in his face appeared relaxed and his eyes were still focused upon the blank screen. His eyes however were not their usual, passive blue. They burned; drops of liquid fire. His hand was clenched unmercifully around the glass, and Duo, staring at the white knuckles, wondered if they would ever be able to separate the two again. His arm, although appearing relaxed, shook uncontrollably. None in the room knew what to think or expect. The Crewmembers were nervous. Never before had they seen the most dangerous of the Gundam pilots so unstable. He was, generally, indifferent to everything that went on around him, so, although they feared him, they also acknowledged the fact that they had no reason to feel threatened by him. Quatre watched with wide eyes and Duo with concern and fear for his friend. Trowa alone was not visibly shaken by Heero's uncharacteristic behavior. Nothing surprised Trowa.  
  
The hand shook. Heero's arm flexed and the glass shattered. The other Gundam pilots leapt to the aid of their ally and were ignored. Heero gazed, unshaken at his hand. Glass was imbedded into his fingers, his palm. Red, red blood dripped from his fingers and he only stared at it, contemplating, almost as though he couldn't understand that it was his own.  
  
"Heero?"  
  
Heero stood, still staring at his bleeding hand.  
  
"Heero?!" Duo was concerned. Heero didn't hear him. Where was he? How far away had that single threat taken him from this world, where people watched him and waited for him, for a single reaction? "Heero, what are you thinking?"  
  
The hand clenched into a fist and was then ignored, brought down to Heero's side, to his gun. "No, Heero. You can't go."  
  
"I am going."  
  
"And you'll do them a favor. They don't want to have to deal with us or Treize." Heero knew that, and Duo knew he knew that. If he could reach him through reason, he would. If he could reach Heero through force, he would do that too.  
  
"I'll do what I will."  
  
"Since when do you do what you want? I thought you lived for your missions. I thought you would do anything to accomplish them and nothing to compromise them." I gotcha there, Perfect Soldier. I know you too well for you to parry me so easily.  
  
"I'll do what I want. And I want to fight. We've been waiting too long."  
  
"You'll do what they tell you to? I can't believe I'm hearing this! You're going to work for the enemy?!" Duo waved his arms, beginning to get frustrated.  
  
"I will do what I want and it is not up to you to decide, Duo."  
  
"Please, calm down guys." Quatre was trying to be reasonable. He had been a little shocked to see Dorothy and to have her making demands of the most frightening person he knew. And so casually! Personally, he knew, or at least was pretty sure that Heero would not hurt any of the Gundam pilots, but Dorothy! Quatre shuddered to think what would happen if they were in the same room. They'd probably kill each other.  
  
"Duo." Heero's voice was low and vaguely menacing. The crew members were leaving what they thought a private dispute. Sally Po and that dude who fixes things remained, waiting to hear the end of this historic argument. They had never heard Heero speak so much at one time.  
  
"I don't care if this is a mission. I don't care if I'm fighting Treize; I've fought him before. We swore we would kill each other and we will. I don't care for your ethics, or your speeches. I simply believe that Relena is the only person alive who can actually bring peace to this time. I'm leaving. Whether I win or lose my battle with Treize, I want you to attack White Fang. Quatre," Quatre's attention redoubled, his eyes were wide but not with fear or innocence but perhaps a realization of pride. "Quatre, you are the best when it comes to strategy. I leave it to you. I'm leaving."  
  
Duo lost his temper and finally shouted (humorously, since everything he does is funny), "Heero, you moron! You'd sacrifice yourself for some girl you hardly know. You don't agree on anything. She's your enemy, your rival, a major pain in the ass in my opinion. All she's ever done is get in the way and make corny speeches and yet you're going to go get yourself blown up, or self detonated probably, for her?! You call yourself the perfect soldier and yet you'll risk everything we fought for, for blond hair and blue eyes. Fine, deny every instinct, every habit, everything that you are for a chick and die before you even tell her why. As for me, I'm through with both of you!"  
  
Heero's head was lowered, his eyes glittered, focused hatefully upon Duo. At the last, shouted, horrible word, his mask broke into a snarl and he leapt upon Duo. Duo uttered a cry and fell backward, Heero's powerful hands on his throat. Quatre started shouting and tried to pull them apart, but they were on the floor, rolling. Trowa entered but they couldn't get a grip. Duo couldn't breathe. Heero was muttering promises and curses that no one could hear. The whole ship seemed to be shouting. He couldn't hear his thoughts or feel the hands that tugged at his back, couldn't feel Duo's fists as they pounded uselessly at his face and shoulders. Forever, nothing existed but those horrible words. Forever, they struggled, their own battle ringing in their ears, voices, too distant to be real floating like a dream in the back of their minds.  
  
"Get him off! I don't think Duo can breathe!"  
  
"They're too fast. I can't-"  
  
A single shot echoed throughout the ship. The silence was total but for the harsh breathing of the two pilots. Duo had quit struggling; Heero's face had returned to impassive but for those glittering eyes. Duo shuddered. What had happened? Heero stood slowly, gazing mutely down at the boy he'd left on the ground. His mouth was closed. All emotion was gone, all anger, all hatred. A distant expression touched his eyes, his mouth. And Duo watched his partner from his place on the ground, not trying to move, not bothering to get up. The struggle was over.  
  
"Goodbye Duo." And Heero left the room. None chose to follow him. None dared. They stood where they had been left; all around the room. At length, Quatre approached Duo and gave him a hand up. "I can't believe-" he stopped, unsure of what to say. Trowa's expression was knowledgeable. He bowed his head and left the room. "Did Heero shoot you?" Quatre's voice shook with nerves and fear. For a moment he had thought--since Duo hadn't moved, that- "Heero didn't shoot me." Duo's voice was harsh and his eyes were fearful, and showed a desperate sort of hopelessness that Quatre found terrifying.  
  
"then what-"  
  
At that moment Wufei rushed into the room, breathless, but totally calm. "What has happened?" During the pregnant silence he looked from Quatre to Duo, his eyes resting on the dark bruises that were beginning to appear. He looked accusingly to Duo. "Heero has left. He took Zero and left."  
  
"We know." Duo croaked and then closed his mouth. It was painful to speak.  
  
Wufei's black eyes drilled into Duo. He wouldn't stop. There was something more; Duo knew it. He made a questioning gesture.  
  
"He was bleeding. Very badly."  
  
Quatre's face grew white. The silence was killing him. The dissent was hurting in his heart like a wound. He turned to the windows and watched a single yellow light as it left them. His gaze then turned to Duo's gun where it laid, silent testimony on the floor. There was blood, drops and streaks from Heero's scratched hand and also-- He turned back to the window. Duo's head bowed and Wufei glared at them all with new malice. He shook his head in anger, turned on his heel and left. The Perfect Soldier wasn't coming back.  
  
That is the end of the second chapter. You probably won't read this, so I'll make it short. I need to get e-mails, otherwise I'm either going to think that no one likes this, or that I'm talking to myself; and maybe I am, it's just-- even if I am talking to myself-even if only one person reads this in all of the world-please. Please write. Say anything. Be an asshole. Be critical. Be caustic. Be insane-It doesn't matter! I don't care what you are or what you'll be. Just-be!  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------Sincerely hopeful, ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------StarChild 


	3. a losing battle

The End of A Mystery  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Once again, I have gotten no e-mails concerning that one dude who fixes things. I feel as though I am talking into a void. IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE? DOESN'T ANYONE HEAR ME, HEAR WHAT I'M SAYING? With all the advances in communication, this is why so many people in the world are lost. This is why so many people write mournful poetry and over-dramatic fanfics. I am begging you, and I'm sure I will again before this chapter is over, please, if you are there, write. If you have a heart, just send me a word. It only takes one e-mail, and I will write this story to the end and put every ounce of sincerity into these flat black lines. Otherwise, I will leave this story untold. My e-mail is BobbyJo7@msn.com.  
  
Once again, I do not own Gundam Wing or any of the characters therein. I give all due respect to the writers of this, my favorite show, and wish they would continue it (hint: in the future when the Gundam pilots have grown up and have found new insights into this reality we call life) And now, although I know you haven't actually read this, my duties as a fanfic writer have been mollified and so, on to chapter three.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
"Mr. Treize. There's a message coming in for you."  
  
Treize Kushrenada lifted one exotic eyebrow in surprise over this announcement.  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
"It should come up on the screen in a minute Sir." the young man at the computer was typing feverishly to get the picture on the screen when it suddenly appeared.  
  
"Heero." Treize was surprised.  
  
"I thought you were in the area. Are the other pilots around too? What is it you want Heero?"  
  
"I'm challenging you, Treize, to a battle of mobile suits, within the hour. You will see me shortly on your RADAR screens."  
  
"Why now, Heero? What do you know that I don't?"  
  
"Do you accept?"  
  
Treize stared at the boy on the screen before him. He remained silent as he scrutinized the larger than life, blue eyes. There was a light there, in the pupil of that eye, from controls that he knew filled the Gundams. The blue lights gave Heero's skin a pale appearance, almost ghastly to see, as though he'd never seen daylight but had lived all his life in that cockpit, in the dark, with only the watery light of the stars. Remembering a deal they'd struck what seemed like a long time ago, he asked the question.  
  
"Is it time for us to die, Heero?"  
  
"Please, Treize." There was an odd note then, of urgency. Treize nearly took a step back. Heero Yuy was begging him to fight-perhaps to kill-him. It was a mission. No matter how hard they tried to intercept the messages of the enemy, all they ever got were hints and static. They'd heard nothing of this and Treize didn't know which response he should make. He and Heero were peers in the art of maneuvering mobile suits. His mobile suit however was not equal to Heero's. He had given Epyon, for some reason he now failed to remember, to Zechs shortly after he and Heero had traded. He was now using the Talgeese when he used any. However, he was beginning to get the feeling that it wasn't just lights and shadows that were making the kid appear strange.  
  
"I accept." There was only one way to find out what was going on. He would somehow beat Heero, bring him back, and question him. There were cells enough on his ship to accommodate even a Gundam pilot.  
  
"Acknowledged." And the face distorted and vanished from the screen.  
  
Turning away from empty wall, Treize made his way down the hall to his chamber where he made himself ready for the battle. Less than ten minutes later, he was standing before his Talgeese. I don't know what's going on, Talgeese. Is this the way? The Talgeese remained inanimate and Treize again regretted the loss of Epyon. Epyon could answer any question because of how the Zero system analyzed the pilot's techniques and flaws. "Is it time for us to die?" He waited for a moment and then climbed up into the cockpit. He started the mobile suit and ordered the door opened and flew out into the vastness of space, to face an adversary in a battle they'd both long known would come.  
  
"All my efforts have failed. I can't seem to get a hold of him." Quatre's voice was filled with despairing concern. It had been half an hour since Heero had left. They knew that a message had been sent from the Zero to Treize's ship and could easily guess its contents after they watched the tiny blip that was Treize leave his ship. (Thanks to that one dude who fixes things, they have RADAR that reaches way further than Treize's own state-of-the-art equipment.) Duo was sitting on the floor near the wall, his elbows on his knees and his head on his arms. It's my fault. I should have found out where the damn bullet went before he ran out of the room. By now there could be more blood than wires in that cockpit and with enemies flying like demented bats all around him (stupid Heero) he doesn't stand a snowballs chance in Hell. Would it have killed him to be reasonable?. Yes. Definitely yes.  
  
"Heero should know better than to let his emotions get in the way of this thinking." Trowa's softly stated comment showed absolutely nothing of what was going on in his own mind. "But I'm sure he'll pull through." Quatre raised his head at this slightly optimistic remark, praying inside his head that it would be true.  
  
"I hope you're right, Trowa. I'd hate to see one of my friends die this way. Trowa, would you get Wufei for me?" Trowa's eyes were blank. "He should know what happens." There was a sound from his computer screen, drawing his eyes. He turned back to Trowa, but he wasn't there. I'm never going to get used to silent people.  
  
Dorothy had seen the transmission from Zero also. She smiled softly, for a moment looking deceptively innocent with her white blond hair and pupilless eyes. He took the bait. I wonder what will happen next. I'm sure it'll be exciting. As time went by, she watched as Treize left the safety of his own ship and the two spots of light as they battled, with no idea of the strokes given nor taken.  
  
Heero watched the white light that was Treize as he came closer, eventually becoming recognizable to his tired eyes. He was already having a hard time staying conscious, even after he'd tried his best to slow and stop the blood. An extra shirt that he'd left inside his Gundam was wrapped tightly around his waist, barely slowing the blood from the wound in his side. It was bad, he knew that. His hands were shaky and cold, and he felt high- strung and strangely restless. And then Treize was there and he had no more time to think. The Zero system took over, making him oblivious to both time and pain, his entire being devoted to this battle that would decide the fate of the girl who would save the world. The battle was endless, beginingless. There was nothing in his life but himself and his enemy whom he must destroy. To save the world. What a silly thought. His focus was breaking. The Zero system was powerless against death. How can I believe that she could save anyone, after I've killed her and saved her so many times already? How can she help the world when she can't even help herself? Can't she? Why not? If I can believe in her, won't the world? Heero watched as the darkness suddenly came through the window and filled his cockpit. The lights dimmed while the smoky night settled inside his bones and his skull, blinding him slowly and freezing his blood as it slid confusedly through his abused body.  
  
Wing Zero wasn't moving anymore. Heero had suddenly stopped fighting. Treize was suspicious. Had he received a message from that strange man with the fake hand, the one they'd been trying to catch since before the war began? Minutes went by and there was no movement. Finally, Treize sent a message, partly to see his opponent and partly to provoke some response out of him.  
  
"Heero, do you surrender?" Through the opened line, he saw the boy and immediately used the arm of the Talgeese to grab hold of the Gundam before it began drifting. There was no color in his complexion, and now Treize was sure that it wasn't just the lights. Strapped to the seat, the boy's head lolled to one side. His eyes were closed and his jaw was slack. When Treize grabbed the Gundam, the boy's head swayed gently from side to side, his brown hair covering most of his face. Treize couldn't tell if he was breathing. "My God." He got a strong hold on the Wing Zero's arm and sent more power to the engines, pulling the silent machine all the way back to his ship.  
  
"No. Heero, how can you go with him? Fight him, please, Heero." Quatre's voice was a soft moan. Duo remained silent. It hurt too much to talk. Maybe in a week or so.  
  
"And then there were four." Quatre's head snapped up to Wufei at such a callous remark and his gaze was met almost spitefully by the Chinese boy.  
  
"Do you think he was able to decide if he wanted to go with that bastard? Do you actually think he stood a chance with blood pouring out of his side?" His gaze was directed at Duo during this cold remark, but Duo remained leaning against the wall in his hopeless position, preyed on by guilt and disgust at his own fear. Receiving no response from the American, Wufei continued.  
  
"It was his choice to make, however stupid. If he's dead, he's dead. If he's alive, I'm sure he'll be happy to take care of himself as he has since we've known him." He glared at the other pilots, almost daring them to speak. "I suggest we attack White Fang and save the world instead of crying over someone who doesn't need it and who I seriously doubt would show even the slightest regret if we were all killed in the fight." Duo finally raised his head to glare violet at his ally. Standing, he strode threateningly towards Wufei and right past him, through the door and to his room.  
  
Sitting by the large, thick window, he watched the impersonal skies, searching hopelessly for any sign of his estranged friend.  
  
Treize's troops were surprised to see the Wing Zero inside their ship. "I want someone to get the pilot out of that cockpit and find out his condition. I will be back in a few minutes." Treize made his way to his quarters, showered and dressed quickly. Stopping by the hospital wing on his way back, he requested the status of the new patient.  
  
"Patient, Mr. Kushrenada? You mean the young man that got his leg blown off last week? He's fine." The doctors were totally confused.  
  
"The boy. He's not here?"  
  
"No one's arrived within the last five days, Sir."  
  
Dismissing the doctors from his thoughts, he immediately returned to the hangar. There was a crowd surrounding the base of the Gundam but no one seemed inclined to carry out Treize's orders. Thinking to make his subordinates understand by example rather than punishment, he made himself known and was allowed through the throng. When he came to the center, near one of the feet of the Gundam, he spoke.  
  
"Why weren't my orders carried out?" His voice was calm and perfectly refined. There was no response.  
  
"You were afraid of the pilot." There was silence.  
  
"And you should be. The Gundam pilots are notorious for their acts of violence and destruction. However, you should notice that since I brought him here, there has been no movement whatsoever from the person inside of that cockpit." Treize then climbed the ladder to the cockpit. Inside he was furious, but it was beneath him to allow his subordinates to know that. In the time it had taken since the boy had passed out, he could very easily be dead, meaning that whatever chance Treize may have had of receiving information from him would be totally obsolete. Pushing a button near the door, he stepped back as it opened and then stepped inside.  
  
There was blood on the floor and on the boy's hands. There was blood on the controls and the seat. The air was warm and smelled metallic in his nostrils. He stooped as he unbuckled Heero Yuy from the sticky seat and eased him into his arms, one at the back of his knees and one beneath his neck. Stepping out of the cockpit, he heard the collective murmur from below him as they saw the dark stains that were already spreading onto Treize's clean clothes. Balancing precariously on the rungs of the ladder, he made his way back down to the ground, laying his young rival on a stretcher that had been brought by the doctors from the hospital wing. Ignoring his audience, he searched out the wound and pressed his two fingers to the young man's neck. For a whole minute he felt nothing, and then, the weakest heartbeat imaginable. With a charming smile, he reported his find to his audience who, silent until then, broke into applause at their leader's triumph.  
  
Giving orders to the doctors to have the patient restrained at all times and to keep the door of the improvised sickroom locked from the outside, he watched them as they ran down the hall, pushing the stretcher ahead of them. Treize Kushrenada indulged himself in a vague smile before returning to his control room, where he belonged.  
  
  
  
That is the end of the third chapter. You probably won't read this, so I'll make it short. I need to get e-mails-no, not e-mails, just an e-mail, otherwise I'm either going to think that no one likes this, or that I'm talking to myself; and maybe I am, it's just-even if I am talking to myself- even if only one person reads this in all of the world-please. Please write. Say anything. Be an asshole. Be critical. Be caustic. Be insane- It doesn't matter! I don't care what you are or what you'll be. Just-be!  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------Sincerely hopeful, ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------StarChild 


	4. bitter memories

The End of a Mystery  
  
Chapter 4  
  
The greatest thing happened a while ago (which I was unable to respond to right away). Someone-or rather two someones, strange as that is-actually responded to my begging and have told me the name of that one dude who fixes things. His name is Howard. Isn't that fabulous? After I'd given up hope, too. So, corny as this is, I've decided to dedicate this chapter to the two people who actually cared enough to write. I would uh tell you their names but their e-mails got deleted with everything else and so I don't actually know them. But you know who you are.  
  
p.s. I hope you aren't a Dorothy Catalonia fan.  
  
Once again, I do not own Gundam Wing or any of the characters therein. I give all due respect to the writers of this, my favorite show, and wish they would continue it (hint: in the future when the Gundam pilots have grown up and have found new insights into this reality we call life) And now, although I know you haven't actually read this, my duties as a fanfic writer have been mollified and so, on to chapter four.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
  
  
Sitting on the floor with her back to the glass wall, she declined the bed that her jailers had so thoughtfully built into the opposite wall of her prison, where, coincidentally, cameras like peeping toms kept a constant watch. Not that they couldn't see her where she was. But comfort was not hers to even consider; sleep was no longer an option. Her back rested against the two-foot glass, which chilled her despite the obvious insulation that two feet of solid glass allows. Her elbows rested on her knees, on the blue silk dress pants that she had put on how long ago?-to make an impression on her brother. Rage and horror and resignation swept over her in waves, making her shiver and sweat with anxiety. And weep with something worse than pain. No, there was no way that she'd ever sleep in such conditions; although her eyes felt gritty with fatigue, they were frozen wide as she replayed in her mind the message, the confrontation, and more recently, a bit of spite from Dorothy. Remembering the scene, even now she felt like weeping with both shame and terror. How! How could this have happened? Where did we go wrong? Why? Why-  
  
(flashback)  
  
The door opened slowly, with the sound of well-oiled springs and wheels, and shut again after admitting a not-unexpected visitor. Dorothy Catalonia swept in, a triumphant smile playing on her lips and a look in her eye that made Relena wish that she would leave again-no, without even saying a word! She remarked Dorothy's complexion, usually so pale and indifferent, now had that glow which pregnant women were often observed to have. A silly notion-the stress was obviously getting to her to have such silly thoughts now, when her clear-headedness was needed for the saving of-how strange-the world. Relena prayed she wouldn't speak, that she would just smile and sweep back out of the room again, but fate, as we all know, was not on her side.  
  
"I have indeed some wonderful news for you, Miss Relena." But that glint in her eye-  
  
"Do you, Dorothy? Any news would be wonderful in my present situation. What is it?" Amazingly enough, her voice was steady, composed. Her trepidation was not evident, not yet.  
  
"Well, it may come as a shock to you Relena. Perhaps you should make sure you're calm before I continue." Not satisfied. Definitely not. More like smug. Yes, horribly, terribly, infamously smug. That about her that Relena had always sensed, that malice, that evilness had finally revealed itself in her first sentence! Telling her to "be calm"! Waiting for it! That-bitch! Why, of course she was calm! Perfectly calm! What reason did she have after all to be anxious?! None! Relena wanted to tear her extra eyebrows out by the roots!  
  
"I'm ready for it, Dorothy. I want to know what you have to say to me." Good. Still calm. She could hardly afford to attack Dorothy now.  
  
"Well, if you're sure. Mind if I take a seat? Thank you Miss Relena. I am aware, as we all are by now, of your continuous efforts at peace between the earth and the colonies, and indeed, between all people. So I have come to give you some good news, as you are very likely not to have had any-no news at all actually-since yesterday." Here she paused, looking around herself unconcernedly, as though she had all the time in the world. Relena had to stop herself from grinding her teeth in vexation-foolish games! What was the news that had been so important as to interrupt Relena's planning?  
  
"Yes, Dorothy? Please continue."  
  
"oh! Yes of course." As if she'd forgotten! "Well, as I was saying, it just happens that the earth and the colonies have a common enemy. And I thought that you would appreciate the fact that they can work for a common interest, toward the elimination of a threat to the peace of all. Which they have done, and that was my news for you." What?!  
  
"I admit I do not follow you at all Dorothy. What is this enemy that you're speaking of? And how have they eliminated it?"  
  
"I'm sorry. No, they haven't eliminated it completely, just a part of it. But you must admit, it is quite a step forward to say the least. Why, what a pain he was after all, disturbing the peace, disrupting conferences, not to mention his antisocial behavior. We really are well rid of him!"  
  
"Who Dorothy?!" She couldn't help it. Her voice showed her frustration, her fear. She was beginning to understand, too well by far. Her stomach clenched like a fist and-although she wasn't sure there was anything left in her stomach; she hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday's breakfast- she thought she'd be sick.  
  
"Oh, didn't I say?" Her eyes were wide and innocent looking, if those strange eyes could ever be innocent and her mouth was puckered into an almost childish expression of guiltless apology, that Relena felt herself almost ready to shriek at her for her malice. But no sound could have escaped her when Dorothy continued a word:  
  
"Heero Yuy. Not the rebel of course, he's been dead for years. The younger one. The Gundam pilot. You look ill, Relena. I'll have something brought for you the minute I finish telling you the good news. It was actually quite extraordinary. I watched, you know. He flew his Gundam right out of his ship and strangely enough, encountered Treize. It was a long battle-how I would have loved to have been closer!-but Treize won, as he should; he is twice the Gundam pilot's age. It is unfortunate though, in a way; Heero was always very attractive, for a Gundam pilot that is." Relena felt something-everywhere. Not a pain-not exactly. It wasn't physical despite what all the love songs say. It was a chill-like all the cold that was so near-directly outside the wall-had soaked into her body, into her mind. It wasn't real; she knew that. It was just her imagination- the effects of such horrific news that caused this.  
  
But it wasn't horrific! It wasn't just something she could look at like a politician! This was Heero! Was he dead? Was he alive? He couldn't be dead! It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible! Treize couldn't do it, Zechs-no, not Zechs!-Milliardo! His name was Milliardo and he was her long lost brother and she'd come to persuade him to-but Heero!  
  
"But how-why-Dorothy, what happened? Why would he attack Treize now, when Zechs-Milliardo!-is going to-is trying to." She bit her bottom lip and lowered her head as panic and anguish began to take control of her. She turned away, ashamed, as tears streaked down her face, as violent sobs began to rack her body. 'it's can't-it can't be true. Heero is alive. Heero is alive! He's going to rescue me. He's going to destroy the White Fang and he's going to save the world. And he's going to come for me.' But her hope was slipping and Dorothy was watching her keenly, not at all bashful of seeing someone in so pitiful a state. Her eyes were filled with- something. Not embarrassment on Relena's behalf, not shame, not even evil glee-more like someone satisfied-again satisfied!-that they had completed a job and were fascinated by the results. Relena covered her eyes with her hands, and bit her lips fiercely, trying to stifle her telling reaction, but there was no getting away from that look.  
  
"I asked him to of course. That's why, since you asked." Relena looked up at her in shock, still shaking.  
  
"You're wondering, why would a Gundam pilot-and especially that particular Gundam pilot-do anything I asked of him? Well, that's very simple. Because he didn't have a choice." And she smiled at Relena with a look of such indication that she felt her heart stop beating-but that could have been for another reason-and for a moment she could not seem to breathe.  
  
Taking deep breaths, she was filled with a very foreign emotion-rage, hate. It burned her from the inside, drying her tears, calming her racking sobs until only her harsh breathing was audible.  
  
"It's you. It's been you the whole time. You persuaded Milliardo to do- this. You sent the message to inform me, to bring me here. You." her voice cracked slightly, but whether in her pain or her rage, she could not tell. She knew which Dorothy believed it to be. She was after all a Pacifist-ha! They'd see!  
  
"You've killed Heero." she couldn't possibly have "You killed Heero!" a shriek now. She slid off the bed, weak and tired, held her head in her hands and sobbed. Her heart was empty. There should have been pain, she should have felt it, just like in every story she'd ever heard. Her heart- her traitorous heart-should have stopped with his, should have known better than to beat so casually now. It should have stopped because what else was it good for?  
  
She couldn't stop the tears, wasn't sure she wanted to. They dripped darkly on her silk pants, streamed down her arms like tragic rain. Her body was like paper, her voice a lament and her eyes sightless with that rain. There was nothing left. She'd fought for peace but the world would never know it. She'd loved her brother, but he was Zechs Marquise and he didn't know anything but how to kill. And she'd loved-she'd loved a fallen angel and he would never fly. He should have flown. But-he should have flown.  
  
'It isn't right!' Her heart screamed inside her in outrage at such injustice. 'We should have been happy! We should have been given a chance, just one chance! But no! Of course not! Spiteful world! It stole our lives, it stole our time when we were never given a moment-not a moment!-to begin with! Not a moment!.' A silence echoed her thoughts. All that could be thought had been thought. All that could be regretted was better left in the past.  
  
She felt herself falling into numbness, made too weak to continue her violent weeping, and instead was racked by painful hic-ups. Slow and steady tears made twin runnels down her face, making her face feel raw and her lips salty. Looking around her once again, she realized that Dorothy was gone, the door was closed.  
  
A covered platter of-something; she assumed it was food-was resting elegantly on the plush carpet near the door. She was starving, felt completely empty of anything-passion, love, hate-there was nothing left. Tears continued down her face and her hic-ups stopped as she stared unseeing at the platter. It was hopeless. There was nothing left. She was empty but she didn't want to eat, knew it wouldn't fill the hole and not wanting it to. It was not worthy of her, of him, to be replaced even by such a substitute. Nothing ever would. She didn't expect it, didn't want it. She had worked for the people for a long time, had spent every waking moment thinking for them, praying for them, hoping to God that one day she would no longer be needed to protect them from themselves. And now she realized, it was nothing. She'd been satisfied by her lot before, had taken it as her private duty as a citizen of the time to do everything in her power to make conditions better for people, so that their loved ones would not die needlessly.  
  
Well, guess what happened.  
  
(end of flashback)  
  
Bitterness churned in her blood.  
  
Life was not fair, not now, not ever. Nothing she'd done had helped, not a single thing. Her political maneuverings had saved the lives of billions and now they would all be destroyed, and it had all been for nothing. But she didn't care. Not any more. Perhaps she would later, would feel guilt and heartbreak for such selfish thoughts but for now could feel nothing but disgust at herself. She had actually cried in front of Dorothy, had given her the satisfaction of seeing her plans succeed. But that didn't really matter either. Nothing did.  
  
She remembered, replayed in her mind all the speeches she'd given-about peace, about justice. People had laughed at her, the same people she had been fighting for, the same people she'd give her heart, her very life for. They'd laughed because when they saw her, they saw a naïve, overly sentimental, idiotic teenage girl who didn't know enough about life to understand what her tongue had thrown at the masses. And as for those who "believed" in her. What did they know? Nothing! They told her that she could make a difference, that her efforts would bring about change! Liars! What change? This was the same world-with the same people-the same blood! This was the same hell as it had always been and nothing that she ever did would change that! She heard her shrieks in her mind, her regrets, her anguish-and then there was only silence. All her hopes were useless. She wasn't a match for it; all her actions had done-nothing. She had given away her life for a chance for a better world but now she realized that, as payment, her life was worthless too. Worthless.  
  
Heero was dead. Heero was dead. Heero. Was. Dead.  
  
She was struck by a sudden decision. It wasn't a surprising conclusion-not in the least. It was the only natural path that her reasoning could lead. Heero was dead; all the hope that was left for the world rested with the other pilots. Or.  
  
She was here. She was on the ship. She was waiting to be saved.  
  
Why?  
  
How did that make sense?  
  
She was Relena Peacecraft, thus, a pacifist, of course. She couldn't fight- it went against her principals.  
  
What?! This wasn't a time for politics! Her brother was totally insane, as was his evil sidekick, Catalonia. It wasn't a time to be nit-picky, not a time to make speeches, to rationalize! The world was going to be blown up for crying out loud! Billions of people would die-billions who did not care for her or for Heero. Billions of skeptics who had laughed at her and had cussed about the effects the Gundams had on the Stock Market. They didn't care for her, and she knew it. They wouldn't weep for her when her time was up. But they would weep and panic and give in completely to chaos once they realized that Zechs Marquise-the infamous Lightning Count-had decided to smash their beloved earth to particles.  
  
They deserved it. Honestly, they did.  
  
No, that wasn't right. That could never be right. Bitterness swept through her system like poison, corrupting her thoughts and nulling her reason. But she knew better and worked now at flushing the bitterness out of her system. People didn't deserve life-that was one conclusion she'd come up with long ago. People were bad and did bad things. But Zechs-yes, Zechs. That was his killing name. That was the only name he had left now- was no better than they. Perhaps worse. He had no right to judge them and she would not allow him to commit such a crime-not if it meant killing him herself.  
  
So that was it. She could no longer wait for the Gundams-it was Heero she'd been depending on anyway and he had given his life. For her? The thought haunted her, crouched in the back of her mind and mocked her ruthlessly. He'd been very useful to the world-and she had not been. Ironic. It was only fitting that he be the one to die.  
  
But that wasn't the point! She'd do it herself. When next Dorothy came with a meal or with fresh clothes-she remembered now hearing Dorothy murmuring about that directly after she'd given her news-she would attack her. It would likely be clumsy, true; she'd never had training and Dorothy was obsessed with that sort of thing. Oh well. What she lacked in training she made up for in a newly born no-shit attitude and restless energy. And the advantage of surprise. Can't forget that. Dorothy would never suspect Relena Peacecraft of murder. She would never expect that the young pacifist princess could contemplate attacking a peer-at times a friend even. Relena would laugh-she'd laugh as she took Dorothy's gun- because of course she'd have a gun-she'd laugh to see the look of shock on Dorothy's face as she was assailed by a soft, peace-loving, pacifist, Princess!  
  
Wary of cameras, Relena covered her mouth as a smirk touched her features. She'd have justice on that score at least. An eye for an eye. Dorothy had killed Heero, and if she were given the chance, she would kill billions of relative innocents for her own amusement. She was too dangerous to live and would have to be put down like a rabid dog. It really was too bad; at times she was even tolerable.  
  
And if it went badly? A doubt strayed unbidden into her mind, gnawing at her resolution. What if Dorothy knew? Or what if, after taking her down, Relena was caught? Or killed? That thought broke the chain, restored her confidence. That was the worst they could do to her, was death, but the way she saw it, that was how it would end anyway. The people of the earth had not been worthy of Heero but Goddammit if she was just going to give them up to a maniac! She had promised them everything-her blood, her time- her life. And she'd give it.  
  
For the people she'd give her life. For Heero.  
  
Heero lay on his back, his eyes closed, his thoughts incoherent. Where was he now? And how--? His spine was straight, his arms spread wide-he felt padded straps pressing them into a firm but not hard surface-and his legs were shoulder-width apart, also held in place by-something. There was an odd numbness around his left side, like it just wasn't there, which was strange because otherwise-where was it? Had he left it in his Gundam? Hmmm.. Interesting. A thought occurred to him slowly-like a bubble slowly emerging from the morass that was his mind. He was drugged. At least-he hoped he was drugged-he couldn't be this slow all the time, could he?  
  
He opened his eyes and was immediately blinded by-the sun? Had he been flying towards the sun when-? Hearing a moan he closed his eyes, his training teaching him that it was better to be considered unconscious. With a thought he forced his breathing to be slow and steady and heard-a chuckle! So! So far he knew there were two people in the room-one who moaned and one who chuckled. Could he take out even two when he could barely follow a single thought from start to-to-? He heard the moan again; it sounded far away but echoed strangely in his empty head.  
  
"Welcome back to the world of the living, Heero. I hope you've had pleasant dreams?" Heero didn't respond and the voice-it sounded very familiar?-it chuckled. Suddenly he knew who it was and tried to bolt upright, but his body wouldn't move.  
  
"Dr. J.?" His head felt so foggy-like it was full of felt. He tried to open his eyes but the sun blinded him and they rolled back in his head again. He didn't want Dr. J. to see him like this. He'd fail the test for sure, and then-what? What would he do then? Dr. J. didn't answer. Was he- angry?  
  
"Dr. J.?" He heard something squeal as it moved across the floor. Was someone arranging furniture in Wing? But there was no space for furniture. Maybe.  
  
"Yes, Heero?" Dr. J. was angry. He was trying to control it; Heero could tell by the way it strained his voice. He felt a warm hand on his and started with surprise-but he couldn't move.  
  
"I'm sorry Dr. J. My head feels full of cotton." And it did. He shouldn't have said that. It was foolish.  
  
"That's perfectly understandable, Heero. Don't worry." Again the furniture squealed.  
  
"Get the furniture out of my. out of my." But then the whole world fuzzed again and the thought ended in silence as he fell back into the abyss.  
  
Treize looked perplexed at the boy, allowing one raised eyebrow to show it. Furniture? Well, I suppose even Gundam pilots have weird dreams once in a while. He shrugged as he took his hand off the dial and watched as the clear liquid continued to drip through the IV into Heero Yuy's arm. He'd sleep a while yet, without pain or worry-and in a few moments he'd be too deep to dream as well. That was all right-he'd probably appreciate the favor.  
  
Fighting the odd feeling of compassion, Treize Kushrenada turned and left the room, closing the door on the various beeps and buzzings of the machinery that was keeping the Gundam pilot alive.  
  
All right, I admit not much happened there, but I think it was worth the time. Again, sorry about the long wait and I hope you've enjoyed it. If I can stop people from barging in on me, I hope to continue with the next chapter soon. Please review. I'd love to hear what you think about Miss Relena's "soliloquy" (ha! English class vocabulary word!) and Heero's unusual thoughts about furniture inside his Gundam. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---Be happy,---------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------StarChild 


	5. stilled time

The End of a Mystery  
  
Chapter Five  
  
I'm still pumped about that last chapter. You see, in this case, I've decided that Relena isn't such a bad character, and so I've blessed her with my own clear thinking. At least, that's what I believe I'd be thinking if I was going through what she is.  
  
As you well know, I do not own Gundam Wing or the characters that debut in Gundam Wing. But I am a huge fan, if that counts for anything.  
  
And I have one more message. I bet that Non will never read this! Ha! (And now we shall see what response we shall get. This'll be fun. I hope she reads it just so I can laugh.)  
  
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way-in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only." ----------------------------------------------------Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities (Isn't that fitting? Just a little culture for fanfic readers)  
  
And now that that's done, onto the continuation of my perfect fanfic, thus, chapter five.  
  
  
  
With droopy eyes, Duo stared into his second cup of coffee for the morning. It was early, or seemed early to his system, although in space, there really was no way to tell time. His watch said six-an ungodly hour to be sure-but he couldn't sleep. His throat was killing him-Quatre had told him green tea would help that, besides soothing his raw nerves, but Duo didn't consider it manly to drink tea-just black coffee, thank you. He'd slept badly-hell, worse than badly!-if you could even call it sleep; just continuous nightmares about breaking glass and exploding planets and furniture inside a Gundam.? It was, in fact, like one great long action movie-a bad action movie too. He didn't wonder at it. He wouldn't even be surprised if he had nightmares for the rest of his life. He'd have to confront Heero about that-if he ever came back.  
  
If he ever came back.  
  
It didn't seem very positive under the circumstances. Heero had survived worse. Duo remembered-it seemed like ages ago-was it the second or third time they met? He'd seen him through a window, his eyes open and perfectly clear. But his pulse hadn't changed-he had such good control!-from when he'd been asleep. Duo had been impressed of course. When he'd finally sprung Heero, the only way out had been through a glass wall on the edge of a cliff-typical bad-guy move, building their HQ on a cliff-and he remembered thinking that Heero was a total nut when he'd leapt down the cliff without a parachute. He broke his leg at the bottom and set it himself. Duo vaguely remembered wanting to leave his lunch behind on the beach.  
  
It wasn't the typical fuzzy, friendly memory-at least it wouldn't be if he were normal. As it was, he looked at it now like a wild and colorful experience. Heero was fascinating. Duo had never met anyone more messed up in his life and that was saying something. It was like Heero could do anything-it sounded cheesy even in his own head-but it was fitting. Maybe not literal. He couldn't fly, which that incident with the cliff had proved-and he'd probably never breath under water-but damn! if he didn't know how to blow things up! And set bones! And totally gross out his new partner.  
  
Maybe that was what he'd intended. You never know. Heero could actually have a great sense of humor but maybe he hid it like some weird game! Maybe he only pretended to be mean and antisocial just so he could laugh at others when they freaked out. Duo frowned and shook his head. No. No way. It was the stress. It was getting to him and he was imagining things, and not in the usual way-where there are actually facts to aid irrationalization-more like just making things up off the top of the head.  
  
The coffee wasn't helping. His eyes were still baggy and uncooperative, and there was none of the usual zip in his system that drinking two cups of coffee slime normally gave him. Come to think of it, the coffee tasted a little funny, extremely bitter. Duo made a face. Had Quatre bought decaf?  
  
"Good morning Duo." Speak of the devil. Quatre's voice squeaked on seeing Duo in the cafeteria so early in the morning. Dressed in a dark blue bathrobe as he was, Quatre still looked like an aristocrat-if a very young and eccentric aristocrat. He had a cup of-tea, Duo saw-in his hand and in his other hand, a raisin muffin. Weird. But of course Quatre would be up now; it was one of the strange eccentricities of his. Which was perfectly all right.  
  
"Morning, buddy." Duo winced. Too happy. Depression was dark in his mind but it was just so natural to cover it up, that he'd overdone it. Quatre looked taken aback for a moment, and then gestured with his muffin.  
  
"Mind if I take a seat?"  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
Quatre sat down opposite him and pulled a book out of somewhere-Duo glanced at the cover-"A Tale of Two Cities". Interesting. No, not really. Not in the least. They sat in silence for a time, neither minding, their thoughts too full of other things to hear the emptiness of the cafeteria or the faintly echoing footfalls of another as he made his way over to their table, like an island. No one was awake but those with the opposite shifts- oddly enough, their time schedules were an exact 12 hours different, making it six in the evening for them and six in the morning for the boys.  
  
Wufei looked down at the table; neither of his companions noticed him, completely absorbed in their own thoughts. Despite the words of two days ago, Wufei felt a moment's pity for Duo; he sat silently, unsmiling, bruises making a ghastly necklace round his throat, oily smudges under his eyes, and the guilty pistol strapped to his back. His eyes did not glitter now with amusement but deeper thoughts showed themselves in dark violet as they contemplated, unseeing, his black-  
  
For an instant Wufei felt mild irritation and then amusement as he realized Duo's error. Taking his seat next to the braided one, he sipped his black Chinese tea and smirked in Duo's direction. It didn't take long. Duo shot him a glance out of the corner of his eye and like lighting returned it to his cup. And then another to make sure. Wufei continued to watch him intensely, waiting for it.  
  
"All right! What do you want? Why are you watching me? What did I do now?!" Duo's voice was a croak and almost made Wufei laugh, and nervous energy made him nearly spill the remnants of his drink as he made very pronounced arm gestures.  
  
Quatre looked up from his book, startled by the noise and the presence of the pilot of Shenlong.  
  
"Good morning Wufei. What are you doing up so early?" He'd been trying to make up for what he considered his temper a few days ago, successfully making the others uneasy with his constant politeness. Wufei nodded in acknowledgement to the salutation and leaned back in his chair to better observe his friends.  
  
"Training. And Shenlong had an engine out that I thought I should see to. And you, Duo? I've never seen you up this early before?"  
  
"Couldn't sleep." Obviously. It came out as a mumble and puffy eyes were returned once again to the depths of his cup. Already the strange look had been forgotten and Wufei felt worry trying to worm its way into his tightly controlled emotional state. Heero and Duo, surprising as it was, were actually good friends-it made sense, therefore, that Duo would be upset. He simply hadn't expected it, accustomed as he was to seeing Duo cheerfully brushing things off-things that were often far more serious than this. Like that the world was going to be blown up, for instance.  
  
Despite the weird feelings he was having at the moment, he found himself barely able to control the ridiculous smile that was trying to take up residency on his face. Quatre had gone back to his book-it was probably too early to try for polite conversation this morning. Finally Wufei spoke, unable to ignore the irony any longer.  
  
"Do you take sugar in your. coffee, Duo?" Duo looked up at the random question, wondering at Wufei's oddly twitching face. Wufei took a sip of his tea, enjoying the rich flavor.  
  
"Not today. I honestly don't think it would help," said Duo, again pulling a face.  
  
"Bitter?" Wufei raised his eyebrows innocently at the question.  
  
"Extremely. I think it must be decaf."  
  
Quatre looked up. "Oh! I forgot!"  
  
"What did you forget?"  
  
"We ran out of decaf coffee mix a few days ago. I forgot to put it on the supply list. Thank you for reminding me, Duo." Duo looked nonplussed and Wufei looked amused. Quatre was back in his book.  
  
"Then what.?" He watched his cup suspiciously, as though expecting something to leap out at him.  
  
"Do you usually drink Chinese tea, Duo?" Duo gave Wufei a bland look, and then looked back into his cup, examining the dark liquid. Abruptly he got up, walked purposefully to the garbage and dropped tea and Styrofoam cup into the trash, continuing on through the cafeteria doors. That had ruined Duo's day, but Wufei laughed silently-something he hadn't done in a long time.  
  
  
  
Lieutenant Noin-no, just Lucrezia now-paced her room. She was high up in the world-relatively-so she got a room with a view. However, that view also made it more likely to be smashed open like an oyster shell when they were brought into battle. But then again, that was unlikely, seeing how they only carried a peace advocate. It wouldn't be respectable, even in war to harm a pacifist.  
  
Worse had been done before.  
  
She shuddered but was pleasantly aware of the beauty every time she raised her eyes from their downward position on the cold metal floor. Her mind was in turmoil. Zechs was out there, right now, doing something. But what? What was he thinking? What was he seeing that would bring him to even consider an action with such consequences? And His Excellency? He was close she knew, and she could almost feel his charisma pulling her where she was, inside her own ship even. What was he doing-what was he planning that would bring him in such close proximity with Relena Peacecraft, Zechs Marquise and the Gundam pilots? What were any of them doing here, tempting fate, provoking their enemies? It was crazy-purely insane.  
  
But there was something right about it. They were all tied together with threads finer than lace and tougher than steel. The future was terrifying- no less now that they'd stayed in their place between the Lightning Count and Earth. He could destroy them so easily-indeed, she didn't know why they weren't dead already if Zechs was truly as crazy as it seemed. But was there a reason?  
  
Did he love her? Did he even like her? Or remember her?  
  
She loved him, though it might well damn her to hell in the end. He was dangerous; he was a killer-but so was she, as an experienced soldier. For him she would give her life, yet her spirit cried out against what he planned to do and so she remained in the line of fire. If he killed them then he would kill her, and she didn't mind at all, only mourned the loss of something she'd never had. She loved him. It hurt so painfully; she hadn't seen him in a long, long time and a deadness had begun to settle on her mind. He couldn't possibly love her, probably didn't even know she felt anything for him but a close friendship. But she missed him so badly. If he killed her she would die knowing that he had never loved her, never so much as she him, and she'd be glad that she wouldn't have to live alone.  
  
Thinking of him broke her heart; her eyes teared against her will and she bit her lips and glared around the room, trying to harden her features. If a soldier walked in now. her authority among her inferiors would drop considerably if they saw her crying like a teenage girl-come to think of it, Relena didn't cry. Never. Forcing her mind away from Zechs was difficult but she was glad for the distraction.  
  
Relena never cried; she should have. She was so young, so inexperienced in politics, and Noin had the vaguest feeling that there was something else as well. She always seemed so sad, in a quiet, collected way-but it was likely just loneliness. There were so few women aboard this ship, and only one was younger than Noin besides Relena herself, and she was a techi. Relena was too young to be cornered with such responsibilities-yet she had handled them with a grace and dignity that would have done someone twice her age proudly. She was too young. She should have been in school, going to the mall with her friends, crushing on nice boys, buying ridiculously tall and uncomfortable shoes. That was the way it should have been, contradicting as it was to Noin's feelings.  
  
What chaos. They were all young; Relena, Noin, Zechs, the Gundam pilots- even Treize and Une. They were all so young, and yet so old, so used to want and pain and sacrifices. It wasn't right that their youth should be taken so freely from them, yet the people needed someone and Noin couldn't think of anyone that could match them-any of them. Sometimes friends, sometimes enemies; the people in her life were everything worth living for- though none so much as Zechs and his sister-and for them, in spite of them, she would pull herself together and she'd suffer, as she knew they suffered.  
  
They suffered.  
  
  
  
Heero opened his eyes, feeling an all-consuming cloud lift from his mind and body. He knew where he was, knew what had happened and the consequences. His heart remained steady without his concentration, pumping slowly in his breast as though trying to force itself out. It was a common enough effect after being drugged for-how long?-residues would certainly remain in his system. Or was it something else.?  
  
Foolish. His head was strapped down, as were his arms and legs and torso. Treize was not taking any chances apparently; they'd dealt with each other too long to make so blatant a mistake. The last time this had happened he had been saved by the braided American who came crashing in like a maniac and told him that the only way out was down a cliff. But Duo wasn't going to come for him this time. No one was going to come for him.  
  
That's all right. He allowed his eyes to fall half closed, rolling slightly into the back of his head. If anyone were watching him they'd think he was still dull from the drugs they'd been pumping into his blood. He focused his mind, forcing all the power in his body to his ears; there was nothing in this world but sound; there was no light, no dark, no Princess..  
  
True; in this world there no longer would be a princess.  
  
He heard a beeping, perhaps his heart monitor as it began to pick up speed and forced himself to breath deeply and slowly, forced his body to relax and to settle back into the foamy prison as it would have in sleep. Unfortunate. He'd deal with that later. Right now he needed a plan to get off this ship and away from Treize Kushrenada. But it was hard. He didn't really want to think, didn't really want to plan. He needed to; he knew that. He needed to force himself to find a suitable course of action so that he could get away from here and-what?  
  
Stupid question. Of course. He'd do what he'd been trained to do, what he'd always done. He'd use his Gundam to fight the oppression of the colonies-and the earth now as well if they would accept it. He would fight injustice and pain and maybe someday he'd stop fighting. Not that there'd be peace now, not ever. But his luck couldn't last forever, and that would be the day when he'd stop fighting. Not before.  
  
The numbness in his side had vanished and the throbbing pain was what had brought him back. to the world of the living. Where had he heard that? It was like a dream. He hated dreams; the thought of them made him want to scowl. He dreamed too often of blood. When he had a nice dream it would vanish just as soon as he allowed himself to be happy, and then there would be shadows, and blood and a sense of something menacing right behind him that he could never find. And it irritated him that he couldn't control something that was inside his own head.  
  
He kept his face slack and his eyes closed as he listened for movement around him. The room he was in was a cold room with it's soft beeping and the whir of machinery, both denouncing the presence of someone in need of such life support-and he might have been, but his system was too strong to be down for long. There was nothing sick about him; he'd never had a cold or even minor allergies-the only injuries he had received were from fighting-fighting Treize. And Oz of course, but the two were interchangeable. There was nothing. The room was silent but for its mechanical occupants and his own steady breathing  
  
He opened his eyes to white light and stoically waited for them to stop watering before taking in his surroundings. White. White machines stood at his left ear making their various noises but he could not see much but what was directly above him. He tested the straps on his calves and arms, trying to work the stiff material looser.  
  
His eyes darted everywhere at once, taking in the feel of the place, the organization of the room, the-his eyes caught on something-white. He frowned. His eyes were watering again and he had to resist the urge to just shut them and try this again later. No! It was getting easier to ignore the throb in his side now, easier to relax despite the strain on his system. He couldn't even feel it anymore.  
  
Horror shot through his system as his brain finally realized what it was seeing. Was it over finally? Was it time for him to give up? Surrender? He didn't know how. The video monitor seemed to laugh at him and he closed his eyes, just so that he wouldn't have to see the piece of mute machinery that had spoiled his chance and might yet destroy any hope he had left for a peaceful world. His mind was-closed-as something or someone increased the level of drugs being pumped into his system.  
  
He'd wait, for now. And remember the camera before he opened his eyes again. Would he open his eyes again? He attempted to push the contemptible thought away but it stayed, locked behind his eyes, along with a face.  
  
A face with fierce, ice-blue eyes.  
  
  
  
Again, I'm sorry not much happened. They just gotta all cool their heels for a little while, to set the mood, you know. Is anyone out there a Patricia McKillip fan? If not, I recommend her. Heck, you may actually like her. I recommend "Riddlemaster". Oh, and everyone on the planet should read "The Three Musketeers". Again, just me. I hope you've enjoyed my little fanfic and I really do hope you'll review it. It just breaks my heart that no one cares, not even those who should.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------As always, be happy.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------StarChild 


	6. blood on my hands

The End of a Mystery  
  
Chapter Six  
  
All right, all you lucky people, on to some action. The last two chapters I realize were a little empty, but now that everyone is set up, it's time to get things goin'.  
  
I don't own Gundam Wing no matter how much I wish I did. I don't own any of the characters although I thank Chibi Asia for trying to help me out, and now, I hope someone is reading this, on to the next action filled chapter!  
  
  
  
Chapter Six----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------  
  
Treize Kushrenada watched the screen in his office, a blend of irritation and grimness painting his elegant features. Heero Yuy was trying to escape. Of course. What did he expect? Heero Yuy was a Gundam Pilot-the most dangerous by his estimation-and yet the one he'd come to understand better than any of the others. Not tactical understanding; that was way beyond him at times. Not really emotional either-that would be difficult considering they both had killed such inconveniences off as much as possible; whatever they showed was staged, planned for the exact effect that they wanted from their audiences.  
  
But he had come to understand him; his determination, his resignation, the way he saw the world and his place in it. They were different certainly; Heero fought for his Doctor and the People, Treize fought for the People and himself. Their objectives were near enough the same, but different enough to make things difficult. Treize chose to serve in the spotlight, bending the public's opinions and emotions to fit his plans-for their own good eventually. Heero hid in the shadows, using violence and a nondescript mindset to accomplish his objectives, his bloody actions making him and the other Gundam Pilots very unpopular and eventually making them hated by the very people they'd been protecting. Now that he thought about it, the Gundam Pilots were probably feeling quite a strain by this time.  
  
Treize turned the volume to mute, not wanting to be disturbed by the disquieting sounds of medical equipment. It was a terrible tragedy-such a strong person being reduced to depending on life support. He just didn't like seeing it. He turned away from the screen, studying his hands as he tried to comprehend recent developments.  
  
Or was this just a ploy? It was certainly possible-make that probable. Heero had been sent to distract Treize by attacking him, taking his full attention-or near-as he tried to discover the reason. A good plan, but then, the wound? The bullet was from a .6 magnum (I have no idea), a very popular weapon but difficult to come by for anyone with average means. But of course the shooter would not be normal, would he? Heero Yuy had been shot at point blank range from in a point in front of him; the angle and force had indicated that much, so he had either been shot by someone he trusted, or during a hand to hand fight. That anyone but another Gundam Pilot could get the better of him-or perhaps Zechs-surprised Treize, but then, what other explanation was there? Heero and Zechs were enemies, thus Heero would not have allowed him so close, and it would be ridiculous to assume he'd been attacked by another Gundam Pilot; their tactics were too tight for inner tension. So who had it been? The question was not why; the Gundam Pilots were now universally hated-but who?  
  
Treize felt like grinding his teeth but resisted the urge firmly. It wasn't good for them. It harmed the enamel, thus harmed his perfect smile, which he needed to bend the masses to his whim-for their own good of course. What to do, what to do? Heero Yuy was dangerous even bound to a table-consciousness would bring with it ideas that would very likely end in his escape. So, the problem was, how to question Heero Yuy while he was unconscious. Treize quirked an eyebrow as he watched the screen, the Gundam Pilot's even breathing not nearly so comforting as the glistening drugs in the IV bag. Sadly, that wouldn't work. It wasn't possible to question someone while they were asleep, and despite all the science fiction movies, there was yet to be discovered an actual "truth serum". That really was kind of sad-such a thing would have been quite useful. Oh well.  
  
There was nothing for it. If he wanted to get the answers he needed to make an intelligent counterattack, he was going to have to find out the details. He was going to have to find out Heero's motive in attacking him, and he was going to have to do it in such a way that Heero Yuy, trained to kill for who knows how long, trained to withstand tactics or torture rather than fail a mission, would feel justified, and more than justified, in telling Treize Kushrenada, his most influential enemy and rival, who he had moreover just attacked, the logistics and supposed benefits of such an action.  
  
Impossible.  
  
Nope. It just wasn't possible. There was no way that he could see to accomplish such a task. How do you persuade an enemy to tell you what he knows, when telling is exactly what he knows he shouldn't do?! And not just any enemy either! A child enemy-the coldest, most heartless, most serious and most devoted of a group of elite soldiers-each of whom had tried to kill him on a number of occasions. Treize groaned out loud, bringing his finely manicured hand to his eyes and to his temples where he felt a headache coming on. With anyone else-yes, anyone!-he could have found a way easily, off the top of his head. He knew their pressure points, knew their personalities and what they felt most strongly about-and he knew Heero Yuy's as well. Which is where the problem was. This was it.  
  
Heero Yuy had no life whatever outside his missions. He was not friendly with anyone-not even the other pilots as Treize's contacts and spies had been happy to relay to him. He didn't care for people, had no moral fixations or emotional obsessions, was practically bored by pain and had absolutely no sense of self-preservation. It was his missions he cared about-if you could call cold determination caring-and if his mission was to distract Treize from what was actually going on then he had both failed and accomplished that mission. Treize was now more curious about the Gundam Pilot's activities than he'd been in months and yet, no matter how urgent other matters were, he could not stop wondering-"why?". It was a nuisance and made him want to ignore Heero just to spite him, just to show him how insignificant he was to His Excellency Treize Kushrenada. Yet even that was foolish and would lead him to ignore or completely miss some important development, and he could not afford that no matter how much of a nuisance it was.  
  
Why did life have to be so difficult? Why couldn't he just continue on with his projects? Why did he have to be bothered and confused by kids half his age? And why didn't he just kill them already and get it over with? It would be so easy, after all. They risked their lives with such reckless abandon that it would perhaps take a month to kill all five of the little pests-maybe a month and a half if they made things difficult. He could do it; he knew that. He'd done it before after all, and without nearly half so much provocation.  
  
But the truth was, he liked them. The thought was bitter, grudging, and he turned away again, arranging papers absentmindedly. It was hardly a very militaristic thought. They were a pain, always in the way, always blowing up his nicely furnished offices and attacking him at the most inconvenient hours. They were asking for it, asking to be obliterated. If he wanted them dead he could kill them in a month-he knew their pressure points and if he squeezed they would break, one by one. Even Heero. Especially Heero. It would be difficult of course; their tactics were superb-but easy nonetheless. It was a charming contradiction and he let it be. He really didn't want to kill them though. They were so young, so bold in their attacks-they appealed to his half buried sense of romance as figures of wind and fire, like titans with their halos of passion and glory.  
  
Foolish. He was so utterly foolish he shocked himself. Before the Gundam Pilots-and how long ago it seemed now!-he had felt himself drowning in cynicism. Which he should be, as a responsible and gentlemanly warlord. But now he felt renewed, revitalized, as though those long cold years of death and polls had been washed away like so much bug slime on a windshield. And now he fought again with all his enormous energy and political cunning. He owed the Gundam Pilots for that, if for nothing else, and as payment he would let them live a little longer.  
  
He'd question Heero. In the normal way, since that was the only way there was. He would not torture him because doing so would be disrespectful to Heero's obvious immunity to such weak tactics. He'd just ask. And lie if he had to. He sighed as he stood, adjusting his tie and straitening his jacket-you can't look sloppy when you question skilled enemies; it's just not done. He checked out his reflection in the glass of a painting and was about to open the door when someone knocked.  
  
Curious, he finished making himself look impressive before he opened the door. It didn't hurt to make people wait when they so impudently knocked on his door. Hadn't they ever heard of the intercom? It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he found out what they needed and did it in the most aloof and charming manner possible. Easy.  
  
He pulled the door open smoothly and found there an arrogant looking young man in an Oz uniform. Who abruptly pulled out a gun and pointed it directly between His Excellency's aloof and perfectly charming eyes.  
  
Treize's voice was calm and only mildly surprised when he lips opened of their own accord and spoke a word.  
  
"Heero."  
  
The young man grinned.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Zechs Marquise, the Lightning Count watched the RADAR screen with flat, dead eyes. He'd been known for his ferocity, for his composure, for his devotion. He'd been known for many things, by many names, but what would he be known for now? He would soon destroy the thing, that evil evil thing, from where man with all his wicked deeds had come. Where the serpent had first tempted Eve in the garden. Where for thousands of years man had wrought little but destruction and hate, for the sake of minor disagreements and all consuming greed that was his most defining trait. It was a pity. More. They could have been great. They could have built something over all those years more lasting than buildings and walls; they could have created a society where happiness and consideration were the law, where there wouldn't have been a need for mobile suits and Gundams.  
  
But he was tired of dying, every day he opened his eyes. He was tired of searching for something that didn't exist, that had died so long ago, for feeling nostalgia for something he had never been alive to see. It was madness, pure madness, and instinct told him that this was the only way to put an end to it.  
  
He had to put an end to it.  
  
Merciful. He was merciful. Relena's arguments had washed over him like a gentle sea wave as she screamed at him about the children, about the innocents. She didn't understand it now but she would with time-he was doing this for them. It was not madness, not in the least. It was mercy. They would not be locked in a world that didn't deserve them, wouldn't be forced to go to war with a draft when they became teenagers. They would never be taught to hate as he was, and that was what he called mercy. They would never hate.  
  
Some would call him cruel, would call his motivations selfish. They would say, those ignorant fools, that he was denying the children a chance to live, to love, to reach their fulfillment as adults. But he saw it differently. Children loved-they did!-it came as naturally to them as breathing, as laughing or crying. He would deny them nothing on that count. But if he ended their lives now, they may never reach adulthood, but they would never have to go through the disillusionment that such a journey inevitably led to. No child born, no child "lucky" enough to become who they were destined to be with the fullness of time, could reach that point whole. They would be bombarded every inch of the way with new and terrible realizations, those innocents, and by the time they were grown they would have become someone else entirely, someone tired and cynical and no longer that innocent babe that had been brought into such a deceptive world.  
  
The cycle was a tragedy, the greatest tragedy that man would ever know, this loss of innocence. Death of the body was nothing to the death of dreams, of love, of hope. Nothing. Those things could not be regrown, could not be replaced-ever. They were fragile and soft and when they died then all that was left was heartbreak.  
  
He knew heartbreak. He'd known love once, not so long ago. He'd known what it was to belong somewhere, to have a purpose. His purpose had been to avenge his family.  
  
But the murderers were all dead now by his hands and others and all that was left was nostalgia. He would never be innocent again. He would never get the blood off his hands. Even now he could see it there, thick with crust and gore. He tried to wipe it off on his pants but it wouldn't. There were smears of blood on his pants, on his face, but he couldn't get it off his hands. He raced out of the room, down the hall to the sterile white bathroom, tearing his jacket off as he ran. Shouldering through the door, he made sure it was empty and turned the lock, throwing his jacket into the sink and turned the water on cold. the only way to remove blood..  
  
He scrubbed his hands and his jacket and rinsed them both in the water. But the water turned red with the blood. He scrubbed harder, feeling panic rise in his throat, making him sob with terror and grief. He could never get it out. It wouldn't come out. But the water turned red and then he realized that all the blood he'd ever spilled was coming out of the shiny brass faucet, and he threw his jacket into a different sink and started again but all that came out was blood. He screamed. This was a nightmare. The blood..  
  
It wouldn't come off his hands! He tried to scrape it off and was rewarded with a gory crust under his fingernails. But there was more blood. And more blood. All the faucets were on, pouring out their ghastly fluid and in no time the sinks were full and it was running over. Zechs backed up to the stalls, trying to escape, but he should have known better. Guilt would follow him wherever he went for all his life and the blood covered the floor in a glistening, sliding layer, seemingly chasing him with his deeds. Helpless, he was surrounded by it, trapped. He slid to the floor, sobbing brokenly in fear, in pain and hopelessness.  
  
He'd save them from this.  
  
He'd save them from. blood..  
  
The door burst open but he was too broken to scream, to lift his head out of his hands to look up and continued to sob weakly. He felt himself held, felt his hands being pushed away as his face was lifted up, pale white hair falling in his eyes, the tips of it stained red with his nightmares. Dorothy stared into his eyes, pity in her strange, pale face and glistening eyes. She murmured soothing words to him, meaningless words, but his sobbing slowed and became soft unsteady breathing.  
  
Dorothy wanted to weep for her idol. His hair was wet and spots of water made dark patches on all his fine clothing. A puddle of water was on the floor under his dripping jacket, lying like a broken bird half out of the sink. The faucet still ran, wasting precious water that would be recycled as soon as it reached the purifying system, making soft noises as it rushed down the drain. She held him close, feeling more connected to Relena's brother than anyone else she'd ever known. They could be friends, but neither of them had friends. Oh, how she admired him!  
  
She'd been called the minute he'd run out of the RADAR room. It had taken her a while to break down the door, and all the while she'd heard him screaming, and she'd been shouting and the men were running. She felt like sobbing with him, felt like giving vent to her panic, her terror at his terror. Looking into his exhaustion dulled eyes she tried to lift him up and her eyes suddenly spotted red. She let him back down again as she examined his beautiful white hands; they were bleeding, in four ugly gashes down the backs of each, and gore clung under his fingernails. Poor man.  
  
Unaffected by blood so much as by his condition, she raised him like a child and led him to the sink, washing the blood off the back of his hands with soothing cool water and dabbing at his face with a paper towel. She would be content if she could be like him, she thought, looking up at his noble profile with nothing but admiration in her bizarre pupilless eyes. He was so fierce and so contained, but not without emotion. Everything he did was candid, and so elegant. There were no hidden meanings in his words, no subtle changes in his character. He did what he needed to do, and that was war.  
  
Wrapping his hands gently in paper towels, she covered all in the wet jacket and led him out into the deserted hallway. The men all thought he'd gone into a rage-which was what she'd told them to save his reputation. It was better that way.  
  
She led him to his room and shut the door, using bandages from the First Aid kit in his small bathroom to cover them-thank God he wouldn't need stitches! No one could know about his recent mental attacks and stitches would be a pain to explain to the crew. He sat on his bed the entire time, staring at his lap, not even fully aware that she was there. And she was grateful; she didn't think she could handle explaining that she knew First Aid; it would spoil her reputation.  
  
She gave him a strong sedative and a glass of water before she left, locking the door behind her so that no one would be able to get in until he woke up. It would be about a day, maybe a day and a half until he was fully conscious again, which would give his wounds some time before he aggravated them.  
  
He lay on his bed, fully dressed, with one knee up and an arm across his half-open eyes, too tired to move, and too depressed to welcome sleep. As he slipped into unconsciousness, Zechs remembered. He'd been in love once. She had such beautiful brown eyes. But she'd never known; he should have told her. More regrets. Maybe they could have gone somewhere far away, together. They really didn't need to kill, did they? He fell asleep and dreamed peaceful dreams of a different time with a brown-eyed girl.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Duo's gun pressed the skin between Treize Kushrenada's bizarre eyebrows as he shoved him backwards into his own rooms. Keeping his aim and his eyes on the general, he backed up to a window, yanking the tasseled curtain ropes (thinking, "what sort of a sissy needs curtains in a space fortress?") out of their loops and motioning for Treize to turn around.  
  
Duo was skilled. He had developed a certain talent out of necessity for tying knots with one hand, which talent he now used fully as he tied His Excellency's delicate hands behind his back, not saying a word during the whole process. While he was considered the talkative one among the Gundam pilots, when it came to the business of rescuing his best friend he could be very serious. And with good reason. Treize was almost as dangerous as he was. Reason enough to be wary.  
  
Shoving him against the wall, Duo searched his captive, quickly retrieving two hidden pistols and a sword-the very sword that had beaten Wufei, how long ago? He left that on the floor and then emptied the pistols of their ammunition and tossed them distastefully into the paper filled wastebasket. Now would be a great time for seizing any useful documents Treize might have at hand, but he had more important business to take care of. Namely one with a hole through the middle and one hell of a death glare.  
  
* * * * *  
  
So? What do you think? You gotta review now. Time, you see, is running out. You can feel it can't you? Can you feel the pressure mounting? Can you feel your heartbeat racing? Can you hear Mik screaming? I can. I don't think she'll ever stop either. Tell me what you think or risk my heart-rending disappointment. I'm going to get this idiotic fic done and right before I go insane and if someone doesn't review me I'm going to have to do it myself! So beware.  
  
Be happy. StarChild. 


	7. preparations

The End of a Mystery  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
We're really cookin' now, aren't we? It is time for the great escape.  
  
You know I don't own anything, which includes Gundam Wing. Enough said.  
  
  
  
Chapter Seven--------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------  
  
Wufei glared at the empty space in the hangar as he repaired a ding in Nataku. Two Gundams missing. It was appalling. Zechs-Milliardo-whatever his name was, was going to blow up the earth (he had no idea why he hadn't yet, no one was even attempting to stop him) and one by one the Gundam Pilots, the ones that were supposed to be protecting THE WHOLE UNIVERSE ran off to Treize to get themselves locked up. It was absolutely shameful! Hadn't Maxwell been there when he'd said Heero didn't need them? Hadn't he understood how true it was? Honestly, they were all too reckless to make any difference in the world. Not that it would matter soon. With their enemies closing in this way they would be lucky if there were three Gundam Pilots left by the end of the week and that wasn't even bringing the earth into the problem. It was absolutely maddening.  
  
He knew he had to stop thinking about it or he was going to put himself into a rage. Finished touching up the paint on the now repaired ding; he leapt off the ladder, feeling himself falling in slow motion with the diminished amount of gravity on the ship. His feet hit the ground first and his stood up slowly again, staring intently at Nataku.  
  
What would become of them? One by one they were breaking off, forgetting the overall good for personal whims; Heero for Relena, Duo for Heero. They couldn't last long this way. What would come next? Would Quatre suddenly realize he'd been in love with the Catalonia girl since childhood? Would he run away with her maybe? Wow. It was a scary thought. Two blond maniacs together; one nice but not quite stable, one about as evil as they come. He rolled his eyes, glad that no one could read his thoughts. They'd likely think him about as ridiculous as he thought they were. For allies.  
  
Turning away, he tried to come up with a reasonable plan; how to save the world and the Princess with three Gundams and a bunch of random mobile suits.? On second thought, he'd leave tactics to Quatre, since he was a genius in that area. Clasping his hands behind his back, he left the hangar.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Pushing Treize ahead of him, Duo raced down the hall. It was time. He knew the room, knew the number. He knew how many people were watching and knew how to take them out. Of course, battles never went as you expected; that's what made them interesting. A thousand things could go wrong, a thousand and one. If he made too many mistakes, this time tomorrow he could be caged up with Heero or dead. Neither sounded like something he'd want to be doing, but the possibilities didn't bother him much. That's what he was for, right?  
  
Shoving Trieze down a left hallway, he spotted the door at the end of the hall, two guards standing like cheap siding on either side of the door. The door, the blessed door, opened and two doctors walked casually out, chatting. They turned his way and stopped, eyes wide at the sight of their commander tied up and gagged-and being pushed toward them with a gun toting young man on his heels. Of course. They immediately panicked and let out a yell, in unison Duo noted, thereby alerting the guards immediately that 1) they weren't very observant guards at all and should not be charged with guarding a Gundam Pilot. 2) the doctors screamed like girls and not like any self respecting medic in the first place, and 3) Treize had been caught and held so easily by a KID?!  
  
The guards, although not very observant, immediately cocked their big black guns directly at Duo. The doctors ran back into the room, which was probably not a very good idea-out of the frying pan and into the fire considering that's exactly where Duo and his guns were headed. The guards stopped, confused. Duo could actually see the wheels in their heads spin, and slowly too he added.  
  
He had His Excellency tied up and at gunpoint. He was also known to be a Gundam Pilot-the braid helped them make the ID. He was in the enemy's camp with the enemy's leader and no backup, meaning he was desperate and desperate people did desperate things. Another thing; they were standing with their backs to a door that held yet another Gundam Pilot who could probably use mind games to get himself out of his restraints and break open the door with his evil eye (everyone knows that Gundam Pilots are dangerous you see). The odds were definitely not on their side and they had no idea what to do.  
  
Duo laughed, his arrogant cocky laugh as he raised the gun in his left hand to His Excellency's temple and grinned cheekily at the poor young men in Oz uniforms.  
  
"Drop your weapons now or see His Excellency make a mess on you nice tile floor." They did. Immediately. Risking a look at Treize's face, Duo almost laughed at the open incredulity that he saw there. Treize couldn't believe that his own loyal, intelligent men would give into such an obvious bluff so easily. They hadn't argued or even hesitated. It was humiliating!  
  
"Yeah, boys. Now just kick the guns this way. And how about those pistols too that I see strapped to your shoulders. No funny moves now and no one will die. Now, open the door." They looked at each other and finally the one on the right opened the desired door.  
  
"Get in. This may be a while." Making a mock bow, he kicked Treize through the open door. "After you, your Excellency."  
  
Stepping into the room, his eyes took in the whole scene at once; the doctors huddling in a corner, the machines, the cameras. And of course Heero, looking pale as death, strapped to a hospital bed. And what was with all the white?  
  
"Untie him." He motioned to the doctors to help out as the two "guards" immediately set to work on the leather straps. They hadn't taken any chances, which was probably good for them, but now they'd have to pay for it by being held under gunpoint for however long it took. Not long. They were too nervous.  
  
As they were getting done untying and unhooking he motioned to the two guards, leaving the doctors to finish the job.  
  
"I'm going to need a uniform over here, so if you don't mind, you two are going to have to play rock-paper-scissors and decide who's gonna strip- down." They stared at him with eyes like dinner plates and he realized that he probably shouldn't have put it in quite so bluntly. Or at least he shouldn't have mentioned stripping down.  
  
"Make that two." And now their eyes were definitely popping right out of their heads. Duo looked over in surprise at Heero, who was now sitting up on the bed, rubbing circulation back into his wrists. He had a red indention on his forehead from that strap and he looked like a drugged up hippie with his wild hair and eyes. Well, maybe not, but it was amusing for a moment.  
  
"I thought you were out cold. Don't tell me you've been awake the entire time."  
  
Heero shrugged. Duo grinned cheekily and looked back at the guards. Now for some fun.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Relena felt refreshed. Finally Dorothy had remembered to have some fresh clothes brought to her; too-long blue jeans and a plain white tee-shirt. She didn't wear jeans often and she luxuriated in the comfortable freedom they offered. The cell was actually very well equipped with a bathroom and shower, and she only hoped to God that there weren't any hidden cameras there or she'd have to add another murder to her plan. Dorothy had stopped by every day since she had been imprisoned here, and each time Relena had played the part of a grief-stricken pacifist. If they only knew! She wondered now at her morals. How had she managed to keep the idea of pacifism for so long when now, a simple little thing happened-her crush died-no, that was too mild. Her possible soul mate, the only person she'd ever known who could make her feel-real-just by being there, even when he was set on killing her-had been brutally murdered for her sake. And that was all it took. Was it a measure of her devotion to him or her lack of devotion to true pacifism that was being illustrated by this sudden change? It didn't matter either way. They were, to be blunt, going to pay for their crimes; the murder of Heero Yuy, the attempted murder of the six billion people living on Earth, and wrongful imprisonment of her person. That should get them life. Or death, depending on who got to them first, her or the courts.  
  
She regretted them now. Her ideals. She had been so sure that it was the only way-it could have worked if they'd listened to her, but now she realized that that was far too much to expect from mere human beings. Humans naturally fought-for foolish reasons certainly. By fixing all the problems one could not hope to end the ridiculous wars because they were not truly being fought for the reason that the people thought they were. No, she was not saying that it was because of people in high places that made them fight, for greed or slight to pride. They were fought because people naturally fought, even as they had once butchered each other in prehistoric days, even as they had squabbled over the holy land in the crusades, even as they had fought for freedom and religion and a fair chance to live throughout all of history-and history wasn't over yet.  
  
But she regretted them just the same. She remembered sadly, bitterly, how sure she'd been, how devotedly and how lovingly she had fought for pacifism, because she had wanted the people to be happy. Even as her heart ached for Heero, so did it ache for that certainty. Dorothy had stolen that from her, that innocence. She did not want naivety-it encouraged ignorance-but she missed that beautiful faith in human nature that had first decided her to serve the public. And that too was because of Heero. Even as he had raised the gun, he'd hesitated and she'd known then as she would always know that there was a goodness in him despite the obvious forces that moved him to do what he did. And now she couldn't trust her own brother. As she stood scowling at her large glass window she felt that it would be so easy to pretend none of this had happened, that by some miracle Heero had survived and that everything was just as right as it had always been. It would be so easy to fall back into that thought pattern that had dominated her for over the course of the last year. But it would never be the same.  
  
She would always feel it, like a cavity, tearing at her mind, if she refused to see the truth now. It would not leave her, and though she knew she could probably fool herself for a little time, perhaps a month or a year, it would gnaw at her until eventually the doubt would be all she had. It would destroy her and in the end, she would never be happy again.  
  
She would never be happy again.  
  
Never!  
  
She could not trust now. She felt that she would never be able to trust again, and that was all right. This was what she was, what she had become due to circumstances, and although she wished with every fiber that Heero had not been killed, now that it had happened, she knew that this was the only course she could take. She'd be a fool to think that words could change the minds of those intent on destruction. The only person they'd ever worked on was Heero and well-enough said. Now was the time for action and she intended to be the one taking it. Hey, she was the queen of the world. She was fighting for the people, for the children of tomorrow that were going to be murdered so brutally. She had sworn her life to them and she would not fail them. Not ever. They were hers, to protect, to serve and to love. She would never love again, but she could at least serve them. She could do that much.  
  
Running her fingers through her long blond hair, she smoothed it down and tied it back in a bun at the base of her head with a silk ribbon she'd found in her pocket. Studying her long manicured nails, she made a decision. She made a face as she tasted the clear elegant coat of nail polish and proceeded to bite every nail but those on her thumbs and forefingers down to the base; she could not afford them getting in the way. The last she left in case she needed to pick at something, what she had no idea. She took off her shoes and set them beside the bed, knowing well how they would hinder her when the time came, their elegant heels looking menacing to her knowledgeable eyes. And she rolled her jeans up to her ankles, not wanting to be tripped, but cautious about exposing too much skin to whatever she may find herself going through. This mission was hers. It was self-appointed and it would be accomplished by no one but her, simply because there was no one else. One way or another, if it meant her pride or her life, she would settle the score and save the world from its fate. And she would do it today.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Three boys sat in a dark room, their eyes glinting almost malevolently in the reflected sheen of many screens. Their voices were hushed, their bodies tense as harp strings; they exuded a feeling of ever-present danger and something-romantic-like ghosts of another time, placed in a world of technology and finding themselves as equal as they had ever been. These were the Gundam Pilots; Quatre with his soft, childlike features and a fierce compassion for everyone and everything, deceptive in all his vulnerable mannerisms; Wufei, with his fire, his convictions and his unbending definition of right and wrong, as disciplined and poised as a king; and Trowa, a mass of long sprawling limbs and a source of wise and simple words, hidden meanings tucked in every syllable, silent as a phantom and always watchful, his mind had long since become a morass of secrets that would never pass his lips. Young and hard, they sat now in darkness, two hearing one as visions of battle traced circuitous routes through the backs of their minds.  
  
The room they hid in was the conference room, windows on every side making the dimmed lights imperative. Indeed, it was the very same room where they had first heard the message from Quatre's old friend to his new, a challenge and a death announcement spoken so mildly in a single sentence. And now they hid away from the soldiers, the crew, and their comrades as they planned. It would be simple of course, because battles were unpredictable; Quatre and Wufei, along with a number of mobile suits, would distract the enemy while Trowa destroyed the cannon. With that done, Wufei and Trowa would break through any resistance and board the ship while Quatre would continue to direct the battle. Wufei would find Relena Peacecraft and protect her while both he and Trowa found and destroyed any opposition on board.  
  
A very simple plan, easy to follow, easy to explain. The hard job would be Quatre's; it was his duty to direct nearly 200 random suits in battle for however long it took for them to either quell the resistance on the part of the White Fang, or until all Mobile Suits and Dolls were eliminated. If the Suits and Dolls came first he would join his friends on the ship, if not, Wufei would take the princess to safety and then he and Trowa would both help Quatre finish off the Mobile suits and Dolls. When this was accomplished they would wait for some sign from Heero and Duo if not their very presence. If they never heard from them again, well, this was war and there were going to be casualties; they would grieve as they had for all their fallen comrades. And they would live and fight and in due time join them in death.  
  
* * * * *  
  
And that's the end of another chapter. All right, I know that it's time for everything to start moving, but it's taken me this long to realize how much preparation would be needed for everything. It'll be the next chapter, I promise. Does anyone have anything to say? I'm a little disappointed because I thought I did this very well; I planned it out, I used reason, I haven't written in any obnoxious love scenes. Honestly, you people should be happy I haven't made it any more obnoxious than it already is.  
  
Well, be happy,  
  
--------------StarChild* 


	8. the great escape(s)

The End of a Mystery  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
I believe that this will be the final chapter of my fic. I have a great idea for another one and I'm anxious to get it down before it gets lost in the back of my head again.  
  
Now, I can't say if this is out of character and to be frank, neither can you. So there. You never know, the Gundam pilots and other characters- that is, if they were real-might actually be feeling these things if the circumstances posted here occurred. If you flame me, that's great. I love mail of any kind (except a few kinds) and I'd just be tickled pink if it annoyed you enough to give you the sudden urge to write me a nasty e-mail, complete with lots of swearing and poor grammar. So fire away, you dastardly bastards! Hit me with your best shot!  
  
p.s.-to those who've been waiting, I'm sorry about the long delay. You see, I started Spat camp about a week and a half ago and Spat camp, as we all know, keeps the entire world on hold, not to mention giving us one hell of a farmer's tan. We none of us have any choice in our lives but one; whether or not to bow to the inevitable-and I've bowed to this inevitable, so without further ado.  
  
Chapter Eight--------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------  
  
Two powerful mobile suits sped away from Treize Kushrenada's space fortress, twin balls of blazing light-and the eternal night closed behind them once again, the widening distance making them into silent and brightly shining stars. The terrible aspects of each were disguised by the folds of merciful darkness that were spread across all the wilderness of space, making them instead into something both sweet and sad, like the last tremulous note of a show, where all the players and all the actors know that they will never truly play again except in their glory-dazed memories. So peaceful a sight it was, so still, that but for the sight of the blue planet in the distance, one would assume that there was nothing more in the world. In the three ships resided chaos of different sorts, in each a secret bursting to be found or told or realized, in each a suffocating intensity, an internal warmth, a surging tide of energy that can only be found in the most critical times. The moment of decision was at hand.  
  
Duo laughed wildly, releasing into the cockpit of his Gundam the hilarity that he had kept so determinedly suppressed as the rush of white-hot adrenaline thrilled through his body. He had grinned in Treize's regal face as he had left him tied to the bed in which they'd kept his buddy. He had left the doctors-those two old chattering hens of doctors! -tied hand and foot with IV's! Pumped so full of their own bizarre mix of drugs that they had gone into hysterics at the sight of the florescent lamp and had started screaming that they were going to be boiled by the sun. At this Heero had given them a queer look and had proceeded to dispassionately stuff socks pulled off their own horned feet into their mouths. The two unsuccessful guards they had left in their boxers and undershirts, unconscious, stacked in front of the door like so much dead weight.  
  
Treize would remember this day for a long while to come, and Duo hoped he burned with humiliation at the very thought. He alone of his retinue had been left conscious and fully aware of what was happening around him.  
  
But the funniest part about the whole affair was this; after dealing with the various evil minions of Oz, Heero had found on Treize himself, the key to the door-the very key that allowed the door to be locked from the outside, making it an effective prison. The cameras in the room, Duo had left alone, knowing that if any experts were sent for to study the footage, they would also become witnesses to the easy way the Gundam Pilots-one even still dizzy from various toxins that had been pumped through him-had dealt with both them and their leader.  
  
It was a beautiful day to be him, thought Duo, intoxicated with his success. He'd rescued Heero, humiliated Treize-Wufei would be so jealous- and had likely just started the demoralization of the entire Oz community. Now they would go back to the ship to meet with the others again, have Sally patch Heero up, although those Oz quacks seemed to have done a good job with that, and then find Quatre and storm the White Fang. Heero would have his princess since, strangely enough, that's what he seemed to want and Duo would be able to assuage the suffocating guilt that had torn at him since about five minutes after Heero left. The White Fang would be destroyed, the Diplomat saved, and the loony Zechs Marquise properly taken care of. Not to mention that Catalonia girl-she had to have a major roll in this whole fiasco; she had the evil genius roll down pat.  
  
Over the link Duo could see Heero's pale, serious face. It gave away nothing. His tongue was mute, his motions just as dispassionate as usual, but a bit tighter on his left side. If he blamed Duo for getting him captured, he did not show it. If he forgave him for his hand-to-gun instincts, he did not say it. He was just as he had always been, and for that Duo was both grateful and frustrated. It would be swell if they could just pretend none of this had ever happened-and after all, it had happened before, and he had saved Heero then too-and continue on with their lives, as unpleasant as they sometimes were. But it frustrated him, though he hated to admit it, that Heero wouldn't respond to him. Duo was, after all, his buddy, and as such, Heero should care if Duo shot him. He shouldn't just ignore it, like he'd been shot by a total stranger. He should yell, for crying out loud, and get mad at Duo, and maybe give him a split lip to go with his mangled neck. Maybe he understood why Duo had done it-he'd been strangling him!-but even so, it just wasn't right for him not to care. It wasn't. natural.  
  
'Ah, well.' Duo's mind cleared. Heero was Heero, thus strange. 'That's just the way he is, Mr. Perfect Soldier. It would probably kill him to smile and he'd be offended if someone told him he should get mad. But what am I complaining for? I've seen him mad before; I wonder if I'd live a second time?' And this thought, like every other, made him smile to himself in amusement. It really wasn't a funny thing to think about but Duo couldn't help smiling now with his present good feelings and his overall self-mocking attitude. He laughed out loud again, unsure why, and not caring in the least.  
  
'To hell with it! To hell with all these little mental whatevers! Ha! I am Duo Maxwell, Shinigami, the God of Death, and this is my Gundam, and this is my world, and this is my life! To hell with tomorrow! To hell with Oz and White Fang and nightmares and Dorothy Catalonia's eyebrows!' And he laughed maniacally right in Heero's face over the link, laughing even harder at the expression on Heero's Gundam tinted face-a true study on Heeroishism; bland, grim, determined, glaring nothing. Without moving a single muscle in his face he managed to display every one of the many emotions in his extensive arsenal and not a single one of them friendly.  
  
Tears of pure and helpless mirth poured down Duo's face and he tried helplessly to fight another wave of hysteric laughter, but he knew he'd lose and gave in almost immediately, closing his eyes just so he wouldn't have to see Heero's stupid face; then how would he ever stop laughing? He had no idea why he was laughing at all-it was all so stupid. He'd shot his buddy, who had almost paid for Duo's mistake with his life-it would have been better that Duo had allowed Heero to strangle him to death rather than that chilling possibility-and then, rescuing him he'd acted like a complete fool and had left Treize conscious-all it would take would be a snag on the gag and there'd be a whole lot of mobile suits after them-not to mention that the world was going to be blown into about a bajillion tiny pieces and sent to the outer corners of the universe-that is, once Zechs stopped playing with Epyon and got around to it. The whole world was going to hell, just like he'd told it to a minute ago, and he just couldn't stop laughing. Perhaps it was because it just felt so good, so relieving, to finally laugh again with a little abandon. It had been so long.  
  
Rubbing his eyes, he judged Heero to be thoroughly annoyed with him by now. And he should be; Duo'd been laughing for a good five minutes straight, and Heero, being the humorless type, would probably never understand why- Duo certainly didn't. Sighing with happiness-an unfamiliar feeling to be sure-he finally opened his eyes to see  
  
Nothing.  
  
Any trace of laughter died on his lips as he was confronted with a blank screen. He stared dumbly, confounded, at the mute link, searching stupidly for Heero's familiar expression. Why would the thing break now? Now wasn't the time for Deathscythe to just-stop working. It just wasn't supposed to happen that way. He'd been so proud around the other pilots because he was a mechanic and things on his Gundam never just-went wrong. So what.?  
  
Empty space stretched all around him and a sudden chill made him shudder. It wasn't the link. Heero was gone. Duo stared into the emptiness around him, far too aware of the cold, deadly, beauty that lay so close to him on every side. A growing terror filled him, a terror that had once started him running to the nearest streetlamp when he was young, and had sent him groping frantically for company, for the sight and sound and smell of another human being, ever since. And he needed that company now, panic rising in his throat as he realized that his best friend had left him alone in the middle of the wide and lonely space, had turned his back on him and left as silent as a specter as he had laughed. And the echo of that laughter now seemed alive and menacing as a ghost, wafting through the cockpit, laying cold hands on the back of Duo's neck and shoulders, almost bending down to whisper words of deadly consequence in his ear. He sat perfectly still, seeing in his mind's eye her figure, her long, bony fingers, her full pale lips as she bent ever nearer-he felt her breath on his neck and sweat broke out on his back.  
  
Shaking his head, he banished the vision from his mind, rolling his eyes just for the added feeling of ridiculousness that the action produced. He laughed again in his jaunty manner and proceeded to turn Deathscythe calmly and expertly towards the blip on the RADAR that was the Gundam Pilot's ship. He was Shinigami after all. Ha! Death was his domain; ghosts would be brought to bow before him-or he would blow them up! Problem solved! Besides, no woman ever died in his Gundam. Maybe she died in space. That would suck for her. Hmmm. he would ask Quatre; he knew these things. He probably would feel a dead woman's soul through his telekinetic psychosis whatever. Duo suddenly had a vision of Quatre in a purple turban the exact shade of his vest, sitting cross-legged in a trance, drinking Wufei's tea with the ghost-who was also drinking tea and wearing a big ribbon fluffed hat. And he felt better again.  
  
Now that he thought about it, he knew exactly where Heero was going. Heero had challenged Treize because Dorothy had told him to or kill the Diplomat Princess whatever. So, since he had lost, that meant that Relena was dead.  
  
And that meant that Dorothy Catalonia was about to meet the wrong end of either a gun or a Gundam. Well, the day, it seemed, wasn't over yet. Ghosts in stupid hats or not, Duo Maxwell wasn't going to let Heero have all the fun. But first, he'd have to refill his fuel; he was getting low. And maybe grab a cup of coffee.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lucrezia stepped onto the smaller ship, something like regret making her calm eyes seem very sad. Relena was gone and she had done nothing, despite the fact that she was a soldier, trained to fight for what she felt was right. She stood tall, her mouth closed, her face set it the lines of inevitability. Relena was a child really, although very responsible and intelligent for her age. In her mind's eye, Noin compared her very closely with the Gundam Pilots; they were all too young for the positions they'd been handed and they had all been given grief and almost no support in their lives.  
  
She was very lonely. She had no one to talk to as an equal on this ship anymore and so spent her free time sitting alone in her cabin wondering how Relena and her brother were doing. She missed him, and she missed Relena, but it was just getting so dull now. Depression had settled on her usually intense mind and she just felt exhausted. There was nothing to occupy her mind but them and so she'd made her decision. She would go, now, and she would talk to him. She would tell him point blank what she felt and she would get a reaction out of him no matter what it took. If he tried giving her some noncommittal answer she would back him into a wall and force him to make up his mind. If he said he had no feelings for her, she would be satisfied and she would force herself to go on with her life, and with time she would forget the brilliance of his eyes and the way his voice made her feel-right. And if she couldn't live, he would never know, and she didn't care.  
  
She would take Relena either way; she was too tired to care about the world. She would bully the whole ship if that were what it took, but she would take Miss Relena away. And she'd bring her back, and then, when she had some energy once again, they would decide together what to do.  
  
So she stepped on the ship, aware that in a few short hours she would be on the White Fang and would be confronting her only heartless love, and then she'd know.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dorothy sighed in mock exasperation. She was sitting comfortably in Mr. Zech's padded leather chair at the controls of the White Fang. It was a very comfortable chair, almost made for her it seemed, which was silly because it had been made for Mr. Zech's larger and taller frame-but she liked big chairs, so it was perfect. The controls were at her very fingertips-even now when she didn't know what to do, she caressed the buttons with something like a lover's deliberation, with something like the heartfelt fondness with which she often stroked the pistol tucked unobtrusively into the waistband of her skirt.  
  
Drat it all. Zechs had put a lock on the cannon.  
  
It had been days since Relena had been taken and by now everyone from Miss Noin to Treize to the Gundam pilot's personal toilet cleaner knew that Mr. Zechs had decided to blow up the world. She was shocked that no one had blown them up yet for all that the stupid world deserved being blasted to smithereens. It was just typical; after all, no good deed goes unpunished.  
  
But that he had to use a code-really! That was uncalled for. Did he think that she'd blow up the world if he were capable of doing it himself? Of course not! She sighed again, more dramatically this time. He'd probably been worried that someone would bump the mechanism and blow up a colony accidentally. That would be a shame. He was always so thoughtful that way, always so concerned for the little people.  
  
She'd have to get him to stop that. It put such a damper on her experiments.  
  
Oh well. Being around the Lightning Count did make her life interesting, which was after all, all she really wanted.  
  
There were spaces for fourteen letters; what they were, she had no idea. There were just too many possibilities for her limited computer skills to cope with. Why couldn't he have made this easier for her? Why did he always have to be so brilliant and untrusting and what would cause anyone who knew her not to trust her? It was baffling, but then, it wasn't her he distrusted; it was fate.  
  
Forcing herself out of the comfortable padded chair, she waited a moment for her foot to wake up again as she decided what to do now. She could wake Zechs up for a moment-Milliardo-it was just getting so hard to remember which now-if it was possible, to get the access code. But that probably wasn't possible-she'd dosed him pretty good. He had needed it, to be perfectly honest. He couldn't go on in his present state; he was making the crewmembers nervous. And the sleep would do him good-he didn't rest enough on a regular basis, perhaps four, five hours a day. She was determined that when he awoke he would have nothing to stress over; she'd give him the day off to do-something. Just about the only thing he could do was read; there was little else to do on the ship-so she'd round up every book on board and have them delivered somewhere convenient for him. And she'd have a special dinner prepared, with all the rich foods he loved and never ate; probably a good thing-it was tough to be mysterious and intimidating when you had double chins peeking out from under your mysterious and intimidating mask. But it would just be this one time, so that wouldn't be a problem.  
  
What to do, what to do. hmm. she could go visit Relena. She really did love tormenting her-but not just that. She liked watching her, liked seeing how her mind worked; it was all written so plainly in her eyes. It amazed Dorothy how Relena could be both so saturated in the dignity of royalty-unusual considering she'd lived all her life as Relena Dorlian; it must be in the blood-and yet so open with all her emotions. It was fascinating and confusing and Dorothy had taken delight in observing her activities for quite some time.  
  
The reaction to the news of Heero's death had been interesting. Poor princess! To fall for someone with your exact opposite political and moral views! It must be very disturbing for her peace of mind. Relena's first reaction had been disbelief, then anger-which had surprised Dorothy; for the briefest of moments Relena's eyes had flashed, at odds with her heartbroken face-and then had come denial and shock. She'd been terribly pale since then, with a dry, cool face and distant eyes that looked at Dorothy sideways and boldly held things back, as though she knew why Dorothy did what she did.  
  
That was silly of course. Relena was such a naïve girl; she'd never be able to understand the darker aspects of human nature and would continue in her life like all good naïve girls, to brush these people's views off as "mad" and "evil". And perhaps they were, to some, but to Dorothy's eyes, there were no longer any such things as good or evil-there were only life and death and how much happened to one in between.  
  
She intended to make her life very, very interesting.  
  
Shaking her foot out one more time for good measure, she started off in the direction of Relena's cell, wondering vaguely if the princess had ever worn blue jeans before. well, that was silly. Of course she had; she was Relena Dorlian until very recently-but then again, her adopted father had been a very influential politician so maybe she wouldn't have. If he'd been in the public eye a lot, then it would follow that his family was as well, thus they would always be dressed exactly as his public opinion's experts thought was best, which may not include jeans at all.  
  
Pushing the button that opened Relena's "cell", she was about to call out an ironic greeting when her nose met up with a very clumsy right hook. Dull, hard pain shot up her sinuses and around her strange pupilless eyes, and her sense of balance wavered for a moment, tripping her over her own feet and skirts. For an instant she knelt on the floor, unaware of how she had come to be there. Feeling warmth on her chin, she raised her hands to find blood. It was spattered all over her blouse and skirt and arms, and for a moment she considered catching it so that it wouldn't ruin her clothes more than it had already, but her practical mind kicked in just in time to save her a bare-footed kick from Miss Relena.  
  
Rage flamed suddenly in her body, filling her with warmth and a sense of righteous anger. She was on her feet in an instant, rushing forward to the pacifist who had probably just broken her nose, her obvious intent being murder. She would explain to Mr. Zechs later why she had killed his sister. Reaching into the waistband of her skirt, she pulled out her gun, ignoring reason now as she saw the princess pull out-something-white.  
  
And then she couldn't see, and her own enraged shriek filled her head. She rubbed her eyes furiously, backing up all the time. She fired her gun randomly, hoping that by some chance she'd kill the pacifist despite. When it was wrenched forcefully out of her grip, she opened her eyes in shock, and another rush of the cool, burning-something-filled them. She stumbled back, tripped and lay on her back, blind and helpless, and suddenly she felt terror. It took her breath away, sent her gasping-because she was afraid and didn't know what to do.  
  
"An eye for an eye, Dorothy." Relena's voice was cold, regal, and the words made Dorothy cold. And then she felt fire rushing through her and heard the sharp report of the gun, and knew. This was death.  
  
She felt muffled in cloud, and in a moment, the pain went away. She was drowning in something soft and quiet, and in the back of her mind she heard something like music, and decided to just relax and listen, as the blood poured out of her onto the plush carpet.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Relena looked down at the body quietly, letting the bottle of cheap shampoo fall from her hand. No tears filled her eyes; no guilt flooded her conscience. This was justice. Heero was dead, and so was his killer. She did not hold Treize responsible; they were on opposite sides-naturally they'd try to kill each other. But now this conniving girl, who once she had considered her friend, was dead. Her task was almost finished. Heero could rest in peace, and soon, so would she.  
  
The end of the eighth chapter. I was wrong. There will be at least one more. Sorry if I'm confusing you. And no, I wasn't serious about writing my own reviews (yeah, great fic. You're doing a really good job. I couldn't do it better myself. Blah blah blah blah.) but maybe you know my frustration. Do you know, I've been writing this fic for like, ten months off and on and you're the only person who's ever said anything but "yeah, that dude's name is Howard." Well, you know.  
  
I'll be back soon.  
  
-------------Be happy. -------------StarChild. 


	9. bloody footprints

The End of a Mystery  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
Maybe this will be the last chapter. Who knows?  
  
Apologies if the people are out of character or if I happen to kill your favorite one off. I don't mean to be morbid but that's the way this thing seems to be going. You never know, though; it could change its direction pretty quick.  
  
Howdy Non. I wonder, will you ever read this? Or will your computer continue to "malfunction?" We shall see..  
  
Note: When I do this-- it means that there's a pause or hesitation. I don't know if other people use it that way, but it's my habit.  
  
Chapter Nine---------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------  
  
Relena padded down the silent corridors, wondering. She didn't know where she was going, or how many men were on the ship. All she knew was that she wanted to get to the controls and destroy the cannon, or at least it's abilities to function, before she was either killed or caught again. Already she had killed three men, not to mention Dorothy, and had taken their weapons as added protection-she didn't know how to load a gun. Her hand still throbbed with the backlash and she relished the pain, the only thing she could feel. They had been too surprised seeing Relena Peacecraft walking down the hall to do anything more than watch stupidly as she pulled out her gun and fired. And still she couldn't bring herself to feel-bad. It shocked her. She should be feeling guilt, should be suffocating from anxiety-but the fact was that she saw them as accomplices-which they were- and each time an overwhelming urge took her to kill them. So she did.  
  
The halls were so empty, and she wondered why. Where were all the people, where was all the danger? White Fang was a threat to the whole world, to all the people everywhere, and yet she couldn't find the people responsible. How strange.. And then, what about her brother? She didn't want to kill him really; she had tried so hard to love him. It could never happen now; her soul felt dead. But she had tried, and for that she would spare him. If he would do as she wanted him to. If he would disable the cannon and promise her that he would never again attempt something so selfish.  
  
Her bare feet felt cold on the impersonal tile floors and her soul felt numbed-chilled beyond death. Looking around her she saw nothing to remind her of happier times, nothing to recall to her the kind, happy girl she had been less than a week prior. She remembered that girl, remembered her mind, her soft heart; and she remembered with aching jealousy what it felt like to be content, even in the midst of war. But much time had passed since she knew that girl and she felt herself a stranger in her own mind. A chasm separated them, deep and dark-full of bitterness and suffering-and looking from one to the other-one kind and sweet and full of faith in human goodness, idealistic to the extreme; and the other cold and dead, brokenhearted, bitter, cynical, and disillusioned-and she could find nothing to reconcile the two.  
  
Seeing a figure up ahead in the dress of the White Fang, she aimed her gun without slowing and fired; and the figure uttered a small cry, stumbled and fell, boneless. She didn't pause to look at the fallen man but walked over him carelessly, stepping in the warm blood that crept like misfortune from the ugly wound in his chest. And in her mind she was death, walking the halls of the guilty, and all she touched fell to dust beneath her fingers, surrendering their souls to whomever was there to take them, and she passed on, leaving prints of blood in her wake.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The control room was in chaos.  
  
All the men on the ship were in a panic. The White Fang was being attacked on three sides by mobile suits and several larger mecha's that had the entire crew sweating feverishly. Could they be.? The ship was large, but none-the-less, one could feel the vibrations of the attacks through the floor, could feel it rumble slightly against their eardrums, just beyond hearing. And once in a while, one would hit nearer and the crew would cling to chairs and walls and ledges. Mobile suits were being sent out sporadically, and the crew watched in grim suspense as, on the screens, they were cut down one by one by a large mecha with red and green coloring and a blurring beam of light held in its monstrous fist.  
  
The Lightning Count was nowhere to be found. The crew was without direction, without organized tactics and it was telling. They missed the harsh directions of Cains (Kanz) and the soft gravelly voice of Zechs Marquise. They missed the cool aristocratic air of the girl who had sat by him during these battles and the decisions and brilliant battle tactics that came from her curved lips like prophesies of glory. And they knew they were going to die.  
  
They heard the rumble before they felt it, and all clung to their supports before the panicked voice of a nameless soldier rang out over them all, "A Mobile Suit has boarded the ship!" There was an instant of silence and then frenzied activity as everyone realized what this new threat meant.  
  
A lieutenant decided to take over, shouting badly organized plans over the noise. He ordered men deployed immediately to the vicinity of the ship in which the mecha-Gundam, but that was unspoken, as though were it not said, it would become less true-had landed, and they would track down the pilot and destroy him. But just in case that wasn't so easy, he sent twenty men to finish the job; they couldn't spare any more than that.  
  
How many of the men bowed their heads in farewell as they looked on comrades for the last time? How many listened bemusedly to the pounding of the blood in their skulls? How many looked at the gray, mechanical room with new wonder, with a new vivacity-the wonder of him who suspects his waiting doom? And the colors, those colors that had been so suicidally boring before; grays and whites and every shade of dullness known to man's ever-active imagination, were now as bright and sparkling in their eyes as every rainbow that ever hung draped over the earth!  
  
The lieutenant continued to bark orders and suits continued to leave the ship to be hacked down like so many practice dummies. The men at the controls continued to type, to no evident relief, and transmissions shot in various directions.  
  
But there was no one to hear them. There was no one to come and destroy these common enemies. They were alone.  
  
Space was cold. The stars laughed at their plight, mocking their fears of death. Soon the last and final wilderness would take new victims and she took pleasure in the fact, like a cat playing with a mouse. The stars laughed.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
He was a wraith, a ghost, a shadow. Parting his lips slightly, he tasted the air. It was bitter, old. The White Fang had not landed anywhere for a long time, and there weren't enough plants around the ship to give off enough fresh, sweet, oxygen for his taste, meaning the White Fang grew little or none of its own food but required regular stops to keep it's crew fed. Potentially useful information stored itself in his mind without his conscious thought, and dispassionate blue eyes roved restless from one side to the other, finding no place to rest.  
  
He'd shed his Oz uniform a while back, aware of the obnoxious swishing that the highly starched uniform was capable of, and now padded along in a pair of old cloth shorts and a t-shirt. The shoes had been too small and uncomfortable anyway, so he ditched them and went barefoot. The ship was cool and Goosebumps rose on his skin of their own accord, but he did not notice them. He was far above Goosebumps.  
  
Already he had killed two men who had had the audacity to try to shoot him as he was climbing out of Wing. The second had run-but not far. No one could outrun Heero Yuy. It had been a short chase.  
  
He had three objectives: 1) to find and destroy the cannon. 2) To find and destroy Zechs Marquise, a.k.a. the Lightning Count a.k.a. Milliardo Peacecraft. And 3) to find and destroy Dorothy Catalonia. He hated her, yes. He hated everyone. But she was a tool. First he would destroy Zechs and watch as the whole operation fell apart-all the time prepared for the possibility that that didn't happen-and then he would destroy her, and then the rest of the ship. A simple plan. Simple plans were always best, but he could pull off complicated just as easily.  
  
Running now, he headed for the center of the ship, aware of the sounds that were becoming clearer to his ears; explosions, yelling, the buzz of machinery. He was getting near. And then voices, just around the next corner. He stopped dead and flung himself against the wall, his gun ready in his hand. Several men were coming, and by the sounds of their footsteps and mutterings, most likely more than ten-perhaps even fifteen. More. They turned the corner and he fired four shots in quick succession, and four men fell down in silence. And he was confronted with the panicked faces-and guns-of not ten but 16 men.  
  
"Oh shit! The lieutenant's down! The lieutenant's down! Oh shit!" The litany rattled on and Heero stared coldly at the men who held him at gunpoint, who he had held at gunpoint. Would it be an impasse? Would they stand like this all day?  
  
No!  
  
He pulled the trigger and the pale man fell without even a groan, and Heero's gun roved to the next. There was iron at his temple, at both, but he could feel the vibrations of their owners shaking. His face showed no contempt but a mad urge to laugh struggled to take control and was suppressed. The man now under his gun stood stock-still, as though waiting for the child to spill his blood, end his life.  
  
"Drop the weapon or I'll shoot." The man to Heero's left was speaking, and shook so hard that he may have shot anyway.  
  
So he had a choice. He would willingly let himself be shot-he really didn't care much for life. But his mission was too important. And they, they would most likely allow their comrade to die, and then would kill him, because they considered that their most important priority. If he died, he would take only one of them with him unless he spent far more energy than he had-he could feel his wound seeping sluggish blood into the thick knot of bandages. But his mission was too important.  
  
He stared at the man under his gun with a frightening intensity and the man shivered. He lowered his arm, allowing his gun to fall to the floor with a metallic crack, the first time in his long career.  
  
One of the men in the back of the crowd laughed hysterically, breathlessly. And then the nameless soldier of Gundam 01 felt himself shoved roughly against the wall, the thin layer of flesh on his carven cheek smeared against the wall. He didn't fight as his arms were wrenched behind his back, near breaking. With dull eyes, he submitted to the pawing and unnecessary talk of the guards, and then his eyes flashed and opened once again as he felt the gun removed. He waited.  
  
One of the guards let out a startled sound and out of the corner of his eye, he saw them jerk around to see-  
  
He leapt backwards, between the men holding his arms, and with a swimming gesture threw them headfirst into the wall. Like a wolf among the sheep he decimated their numbers quickly until he faced one single man at the end of his gun. He was pale and his lips bled from biting them. He stood still, quaking, watching his life flash before his eyes no doubt. Heero didn't hesitate; he pulled the trigger. So quickly had he moved; he felt his wound open even as the last man fell beside him.  
  
He now turned towards what had distracted them at the end of the hall; there was no one there. He went nearer and stood staring for a moment. There on the white wholesome tiles was a path of footprints. Kneeling close, he smelled them and recognized the sharp metallic scent of blood. Conveniently, they led in exactly the direction he desired to go.  
  
And so he followed the bloody footprints, until the blood wore off and he made his way on his own.  
  
:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~ :~:  
  
Just to let everyone know, if you like this, I have another fic. And a lot of poetry, if you're into that sort of thing. So don't hesitate to check it out. I could use the reviews. 


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